Running
by Diana3
Summary: Sydney’s left LA. After almost two years, she finds herself back where she started. --complete--
1. Prologue : Orlando

Title: Running  
  
Email: princess_watermelon@hotmail.com  
  
Feedback: :) My first fic – I want to know whether anyone actually likes it. So, yes please!  
  
Distribution: Go ahead. But please – tell me where. A short email with "Hi! Your fic's here!" will be fine. Go for it :)  
  
Credits: Kat – thank you sooo much for being kind enough to beta read this over and over… You are my saviour. I'd also like to say thanks to Rach for liking this, and to anyone else who actually enjoyed it and told me – or told anyone else – about it. Made my day :)  
  
Disclaimer: Blah blah, definitely not mine – Alias and its characters belong to the ABC and Touchstone, and are masterful creations of J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot. There is no way I am getting any money from this WHATSOEVER, so please, don't sue. There's nothing for me to give. *sighs*  
  
Summary: Sydney's left LA. After almost two years, she finds herself almost back where she started. (Not as boring as it sounds. Really. I just can't summarize.)  
  
Rating: I'm guessing about PG-13 for some bad language – not much, though. That's pretty much it for now.  
  
Classification: Action/Adventure, Drama, with a lot more angst to come. Give it time.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sydney's breathing came in short gasps that matched the steady rhythm of her boots against the concrete. But the beat only went as far as to compound her stupidity as she raced around the corner. She should have believed him when he said 'They' were getting close – really close. That one night in one city was enough. But she'd said no. "No," she'd smiled. "We have to stay one more day. Just one more." So they had.  
  
They'd visited Disney World. They'd gone to the rambling house that was Ripley's Believe It or Not under delusions that they'd be okay. Not perfectly safe. They never were. But at least slightly. They'd covered their tracks so *well*…  
  
A tear slipped from Sydney's eye as she sped to the front of the bed and breakfast. //Where is he?// Her head turned to both sides, looking for him, for the car, for hope. Orlando was just as humid as she'd been promised, and she wished she wasn't wearing a sweater, wished she could take it off, wished she could stop.  
  
She kept running.  
  
She was close to the road now. The long road, but she could sprint for miles if she had to. She had no qualms about it whatsoever. But she wasn't going to leave without him. If only she knew where he'd gone –  
  
"Stop," someone growled, and Sydney heard the arming of automatic weapons all around her. The men stepped out from the fake foliage of the little rainforest garden by the gate, all in black military wear, and Sydney stopped running.  
  
"Nice sprint, Bristow," one of the men spat out. "Too bad it was your last," he snickered.  
  
"How original." Sydney smirked. It wasn't the best response she could come up with, but sarcasm felt like her only weapon. She knew she was beyond help. Finished. Dead. There was no way in hell she was getting out of this.  
  
She looked up at the sky, a velvety midnight blue above her, fading to purple and peach to her left. The stars laughed at her as they started to disappear, and Sydney cursed herself again, wishing she knew where he was.  
  
"Come on," she whispered to herself. But, looking around, she knew there was no escape from this. None.  
  
It was over.  
  
  
  
**** 


	2. Nice Life... : Portland

*  
  
//Two weeks earlier…//  
  
  
  
Sydney smiled at the older man behind the counter as she paid for her groceries. He smiled back as he pressed a few keys on the register, and then pulled out her change after it opened with a "ping". He turned to her, placing a few notes and random coins in her outstretched hand.  
  
"Seven dollars and eighty-five cents change," he announced, his voice thick with an Italian accent.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Benucci," Sydney replied, opening her purse, folding the notes and putting them in.  
  
"You are so happy this day, Elizabeth," Mr. Benucci stated in a questioning tone. Sydney chuckled.  
  
"Melissa's decided to give me a nice birthday dinner," she told him. "You know what she's like."  
  
"But of course, bella," Mr. Benucci nodded. "All the best wishes from Luciana and myself for your day." Sydney grinned as she placed her purse in her handbag, moving towards the exit of the grocery store.  
  
"Thank you," she called, opening the door. "Have a wonderful weekend!" She waved, and then left.  
  
Sydney stepped out onto the street and slipped on her sunglasses. Her car was just down the road, and she sighed as she headed off, thinking how lucky she was to be here, in this town; to be welcome, to have friends, to be peaceful.  
  
To be alive.  
  
Sydney bit her lip and pushed the thought to the back of her overflowing mind. She could finally go around calmly, and yet here she was, thinking about a past she'd erased. Sydney (but I'm Elizabeth now) shook her head as she opened the door of her Jeep Liberty and climbed in. She slammed the door shut as she put the keys in the ignition, making the engine roar to life, and she pulled out from the curb.  
  
Driving down the quaint streets of Portland, Maine, to her home (house…), Sydney was once again hit by how at ease she was finally feeling. All this time, (almost two years) and she was still so happy. Tonight would be even better. She was turning thirty, and her flat mate Melissa had decided to celebrate the occasion by inviting a few close friends over for dinner. Melissa's nature was so open, so trusting. Sometimes, she was so alike Francie that –  
  
Sydney stopped her thoughts again as she turned right into her street. She wasn't allowed to think about Francie or Will. But in the past six months, their faces were invading her thoughts on a regular basis. She'd wake up with Francie's carefree laugh echoing all around her, or with Will's skeptic but trusting smile imprinted in the faces of men she saw every day (like Seth, the boyfriend).  
  
Sydney would see them when shopping, hear their voices over the phone, and feel them around her when she ate her breakfast.  
  
But they were gone now. And she had to let it go.  
  
As she pulled into her driveway and got out of the SUV, grocery bags in hand, she made up her mind to not think of them again. Not tonight. Not during her birthday, when she should be happy. Not when her new life was blossoming, and she didn't want anything to spoil it.  
  
Not tonight.  
  
She'd loved them both so much, and they'd always be with her, but thinking of them only brought back painful memories. Memories of another life, one she'd left behind her when she moved all the way across the country.  
  
But she still missed them like crazy.  
  
  
  
*  
  
::  
  
Sydney fled. Left L.A. Forever. Her father was missing, presumed dead. SD-6 had been disposed of – blown up in the middle of lunch hour, while Sydney was in Russia.  
  
But the thing was, the CIA wasn't the operation responsible for the demise of the building, the bank, the breakaway agency.  
  
Sloane's body hadn't been found. Neither had her father's, or Dryer's.  
  
But Dixon's had been. And so had Marshall's. A countless amount of bodies – most innocent – had been blown up, burnt, deranged out of recognition. But the ones that counted hadn't been. The agents who knew what SD-6 (really) was were missing.  
  
(Sloane. Jack.)  
  
So Sydney was running.  
  
Her hair was blonde, her eyes were green, and her jeans were dirty. She'd ditched her car in San Francisco and had caught a train to New York. She'd walked the streets of Manhattan, thinking about what had happened as pedestrians raised their eyebrows at her disheveled attire.  
  
The CIA decided that SD-6 had destroyed itself – an inside job. The Alliance had become more suspicious in the last few months, keeping more secrets from more agents than before. Even Jack Bristow wasn't privy to most of the things that came up.  
  
There had been explosions, arguments, screams (blood). Sydney lost so much in her life. That one week after she returned from Moscow destroyed nearly everything she'd ever held dear. She was warned against staying in town, but ignored everything she was told. Ignored the fact that she could feel someone watching her every minute of every day. She thought she was fine – that she could survive anything that was thrown her way.  
  
Until something convinced her it was run or die.  
  
So, she'd found herself on a train, then in a taxi, and had planned her next move. As Elizabeth Whitby, she'd found a job in Portland, Maine, and moved there. Melissa O'Connell was a great girl whose flat mate had moved out – so she had half a house to share. Sydney had moved in – met Melissa's friends Jay and Gwen, who were the ultimate inseparable pair, and Seth, Melissa's cousin, who Sydney found to be a great guy. Problem was, he'd fallen immediately in love with Sydney and her new, gray-tinted contact lenses. He treated her like a princess, buying her flowers, cheering her up after a hard day, taking her out to a movie in the hope that she'd finally turn around and notice him. So she eventually had (but only out of pity). She and Seth had been together six months, but weren't half as together as Jay and Gwen. She'd been in Maine for eighteen months now, living outside, open to the rest of the world.  
  
Sydney's new life as Elizabeth (which was one of her all-time favorite names, so simple and innocent was it's elegance) had opened doors she'd never even knocked on before – but had locked others behind her. She could do what she wanted and go where she wanted (but only forward – she could never go back) without worrying that she was being tailed. She could do things she'd only ever dreamed of doing before (like being out in the open). She was finally free from SD-6, from the CIA, from her pressures as an agent.  
  
But she was still running.  
  
::  
  
*  
  
  
  
"Seth, *sweetie,*" Melissa laughed hours later, "you do realize that you're not staying tonight, don't you?" Seth sighed and tightened his arms around Sydney.  
  
"That's up to Elizabeth here, Mel." He planted a kiss on Sydney's cheek, and she smiled, ready to send him home – as she always did. She pulled his hands from around her waist and turned to face him.  
  
"Sorry." She grinned up at him, and his brown eyes seemed to flash with hurt for a split second. Then they were replaced with their usual happy glow, and Sydney's smile became smaller, almost rueful. "I'm just tired tonight. But I'll come with you to Jay and Gwen's tomorrow night. If you like." She looked at him hopefully, but as he thought about her proposition, Sydney realized she didn't care what he said. The thought struck her hard, making her go blank for a second, but she knew it was true.  
  
She simply didn't care.  
  
"All right," Seth conceded. "Tomorrow at eight."  
  
Sydney stepped back, nodding. Answering him… answering herself. She led him to the door, kissed him goodnight, and then watched him walk to his car. She allowed herself a small smile as she closed the heavy oak door behind her, standing still for a moment after the sound of Seth's car faded into the distance.  
  
Melissa walked out into the hallway. Spotting Sydney, her brow furrowed. "Liz? You okay?"  
  
Sydney looked over at Melissa, her face so full of concern that Sydney thought she might cry.  
  
"Yeah." She forced herself to smile. "Just a bit worn out, that's all."  
  
Melissa laughed, then led Sydney to the living room and sat her on the couch. Sydney smiled, then stretched herself out along the length of the sofa, her head on one of the pillows. She glanced up at the pale ceiling, then closed her eyes and yawned.  
  
"So, Lizzie," Melissa started, flopping into an armchair and putting her feet on the glass coffee table, "what do you want to do tomorrow?"  
  
"Mmph." Sydney mumbled. "On my birthday? Absolutely nothing."  
  
Melissa laughed again. Sydney listened to the timbre of it, wondering if hers sounded like that. //She's so happy… why is she always so happy?//  
  
"Sorry Liz," Melissa yawned, the time of night finally getting to her, "but you forget that your birthday was today. No special favors for you tomorrow!"  
  
"Great," Sydney complained. "Just perfect." //I wish I'd told them when it really was. Maybe then I'd have the day off…// Yet another thing she'd had to lie about when she left L.A. Her birthday.  
  
//That's it.// Sydney stood up quickly, and then regretted it when the room wobbled. She put a hand to her forehead and sighed.  
  
"Well, Melissa," she proclaimed, "I'm off to bed. Sweet dreams," she added, walking past the armchair and patting her on the head. Melissa groaned in response, making Sydney smile.  
  
She headed up the stairs to her bedroom, silently praying for the serene dreams that everyone else seemed to always have, deserve.  
  
So why not her?  
  
  
  
* 


	3. It Begins

*  
  
  
  
The phone was ringing. Sydney swore as she jumped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her as she flew down the hall to get the cordless. It was a week since her birthday, and Sydney was at home on one of her few days off, enjoying sleeping in and long, hot showers only to be interrupted when the phone rang.  
  
She picked it up on the sixth ring. "Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Sydney."  
  
Sydney stopped breathing. Time stood still. The voice was unfamiliar, and yet she recognized it. Her heart started to pound, but before she could say anything, the caller spoke again.  
  
"What's your favorite scary movie?"  
  
"Jay, you asswipe," Sydney let out her breath, starting to laugh. "You scared me."  
  
"How is that possible, Liz?" Jay asked, obviously on his cell. She could hear cars in the background, and footsteps. "It's not like your name's Sydney." He chuckled.  
  
Sydney snorted. "Just a fear reflex, Jay." //Just a reflex.// "So, what's up?"  
  
"Nothing much. I was going to ask if you wanted to come shopping with me."  
  
Sydney was incredulous. "Shopping?" she asked. "With *you*?"  
  
A pause. "Yeah."  
  
Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Are you sick?"  
  
"Ha, ha, ha." Jay sighed. "No. It's just… I want to buy a… ring. For, um, for Gwen. And I thought I should get a woman's opinion on the whole thing, and seeing as you're free today…" he trailed off.  
  
Sydney laughed. "Aww, Jay. Of course I'll come. Where do you want me to meet you?"  
  
"In front of the restaurant on Center Street, in about a half hour." His voice brightened. "Liz, do you think she'll say yes?"  
  
Sydney smiled. "Of course she will, Jay. Of course she will."  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Jay beeped his horn as he drove off. Sydney waved, and then started the walk towards her car, which was a few streets away. The engagement ring frenzy had been short, but Jay was pleased with what he'd finally chosen – a classic diamond, surrounded by amethysts, on a gold band. Gwen would be overjoyed and completely ecstatic, and Sydney had no doubt in her mind that she'd make Jay the happiest guy alive.  
  
Sydney straightened her back as she walked, and on a whim, popped into a bakery on her right. She waited in line to buy a bagel, and as she did, looked out the window.  
  
And there he was.  
  
Across the street, standing by a kiosk buying a newspaper, a burly man in a suit. He was wearing sunglasses, had a cell phone and looked completely out of place surrounded by people in jeans and t-shirts.  
  
Sydney's breath came quicker, and her mind started spinning. That man had been following her and Jay all morning. She hadn't been sure, but now, as she looked across the street, she was positive. The man looked up towards the bakery, and Sydney glanced away, staring at the blond ponytail of the woman in front of her. She nervously ran a hand through her own, dyed-black locks, wondering what was happening. She was meant to be free. Happy.  
  
Not scared.  
  
The line moved, and it was finally Sydney's turn. She smiled at the teenager behind the counter. "A bagel, please. Plain." The boy nodded and reached for a bag, and Sydney let her gaze wonder out the window again.  
  
The man hadn't moved.  
  
She drew a breath in as she pulled some change out from her pocket and handed it to the boy, who in turn placed the bagel, encased in a paper bag, in her hand. She turned and left the bakery.  
  
"Miss! Your change!" Sydney ignored the boy's calls as the door closed behind her, and she set off down the street again, walking quickly. A glance into a window she passed showed that The Man was now hurrying as well.  
  
She saw her chance coming up as she neared the corner. Her car was maybe forty feet down the road, and she decided to make a run for it. She glanced over her shoulder, and the man seemed to catch her eye through his sunglasses.  
  
As Sydney turned the corner, her view of him disappeared, and she sprinted for her car. She climbed into it, thrust the key into the ignition and then sped out onto the street, a glance in her rearview mirror revealing The Man yelling into his cell phone. Sydney smiled in triumph as she passed through an intersection, hearing the squeal of tires. She looked into her rearview mirror again, a smile still on her face – and swore.  
  
Two Lincoln Navigators (why are they always SUVs?) were now driving down the street, picking up pace.  
  
Following her.  
  
She swore again, swerving into a street on her right and pressing her foot harder on the accelerator. The Lincolns followed, not too fast, but not slow enough to let Sydney relax. She wondered whether she was hallucinating. It had been almost two years. TWO *YEARS*. Two years full of laughter and smiles and Foosball at the local games arcade with her new boyfriend and her closest friends. She was meant to be rid of Lincolns, of suspense, of men with business suits and sunglasses and fucking gelled hair.  
  
It just wasn't her day.  
  
She sped around another corner, knowing the SUVs were falling behind. Maybe they were just testing her… maybe she wasn't really being followed. Maybe she was imagining the whole thing.  
  
Yeah. Right. She gritted her teeth, pissed off at her own naivety. //I'm imagining being followed by anti-government cars.// She turned a few more corners, exceeded the speed limit by another ten miles an hour, and then, finally, glanced in her rearview mirror.  
  
No Lincolns.  
  
//Yes-,// she thought to herself. She slowed down slightly, still checking all her mirrors every few seconds. But there was no sign of the SUVs. That didn't make her feel better – it just made her more suspicious.  
  
Sydney turned onto her street, driving slowly and staring at the front of her house. There were no signs of anything being amiss. Melissa's car was in the driveway, which meant she'd finished work for the day. There was a light on upstairs, and in the living room at the front of the house. Sydney sighed in relief, still slightly on edge. But she pulled into the driveway next to Melissa's car and got out, bagel in hand.  
  
She unlocked the front door (No-one's broken in) and called out to her friend as she hung up her jacket.  
  
"Melissa?"  
  
She was greeted by silence, and she panicked. "Melissa?" she called again, racing up the stairs. "Mel!"  
  
Sydney went from door to door, checking there was no – (no what? No blood?) – nothing out of place in any of the rooms. She approached Melissa's bedroom door, light spilling out into the darkened hallway. Sydney held her breath as she pushed open the door and looked in, prepared for anything.  
  
Except the sight that greeted her.  
  
Melissa was sprawled on her bed, headphones on.  
  
Asleep.  
  
(Alive)  
  
Her chest rose and fell, and once in awhile she let out a groan. Sydney let out a breath and walked closer to the bed. She smiled down at Melissa's face, so innocent as she slept, her smattering of freckles faint in the dim light. Sydney's hand reached out and brushed a wisp of Melissa's red hair out of her eyes, and then she stood back and stared at her for a minute. Surprised (Melissa never sleeps after work) but satisfied with her friend's safety – for the moment – Sydney left the room, turning off the light.  
  
Walking down the hall, she looked at the cordless in its cradle. Wondered why it was sitting there so inoffensively. Wondered if it had always been so smooth to the touch. Wondered if it would ring.  
  
It rang.  
  
Sydney jumped. She neared the phone, scared of what – of who – might greet her from the other end. She looked at its blackness tentatively, then picked it up and pressed the button that bore the word "talk".  
  
She held it to her ear. "…Hello?"  
  
A pause. She was unnerved. "Hello?"  
  
"Joey's Pizza?"  
  
Sydney stopped breathing altogether.  
  
"… Joey's Pizza?"  
  
"Oh, God," she blurted out, her eyes tearing up. "No. No, no, no."  
  
The caller (God, I never thought I'd hear him again) was insistent. "Joey's Pizza?"  
  
"God… shit. No!" She slammed the phone back into its cradle, glaring at it as she hyperventilated, the hall bending and spinning. She dared the black piece of plastic to ring again. She dared it. She stood there for a good five minutes, just daring it to ring.  
  
It didn't.  
  
Finally, her heart pounding, Sydney left the hallway and headed down the stairs. She was scared now. Fully, completely, and utterly petrified. Her head spun as she tried to understand what was happening. Why it was happening.  
  
(I was supposed to be FREE!)  
  
Sydney paced back and forth in the living room. She felt so strange, pacing. She hardly ever paced.  
  
The phone rang in the kitchen and she almost screamed. She was completely stressed now, scared of everything around her. The television. The curtains. The couch.  
  
The phone in the kitchen.  
  
She stalked over to the white cordless on the wall and grabbed it off its hook. Pressing the button, which used to say talk (it was rubbed off. Rubbed out. Like Sydney was meant to be.), Sydney took a deep breath. "Hello?"  
  
She was greeted by silence again, and she was sick of it. "Who *the hell* is this?"  
  
This time, someone on the other end sniffled. "Liz… it's me."  
  
Sydney recognized the voice. "Gwen?" There was a sob. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Jay," she sobbed. "It's Jay."  
  
Sydney sighed in relief, knowing how emotional Gwen was. "He asked you to marry him?" A wail. "Then why are you so upset?"  
  
"Liz," Gwen said quietly, as if she were gathering strength. "Jay's dead."  
  
Sydney froze. "What?" she whispered.  
  
"He was killed on the way home, from town. There was an accident… a hit-and- run… he crashed into a wall." Gwen's voice shrank as each sentence progressed. The pain in her voice was obvious – so palpable that it surrounded Sydney in its darkness and hunger.  
  
"Who - who told you this, Gwen?" Sydney asked quietly.  
  
"The police," she sniffled. "They rang about fifteen minutes ago… and I didn't know who else to call."  
  
Sydney nodded. "And they told you it was an accident?"  
  
"They said hit-and-run… probably a car bigger than Jay's… which isn't that hard to find… and – a dark car. They asked me if I knew anyone with a big dark car." Gwen started to sound more collected, but the underlying tone in her voice proved she was on the verge of breaking down. And Sydney knew who owned a big, dark car. She knew lots of people who owned big, dark cars.  
  
Too many people. (With sunglasses, and suits, and gel in their hair…)  
  
Sydney bit her lip. "Thanks, Gwen. Thanks for calling me… Look, I have to ask you to do something. Something important."  
  
Gwen blew her nose. "What?"  
  
Sydney drew in a breath. (It was times like this that she was acutely aware of everything, right down to her shallow intakes of breath)"Get out of town."  
  
"What?" Gwen asked, startled.  
  
"Get out of town." Sydney sighed. "I'm going to go wake up Melissa, and you're both going to get out of town. And take Seth with you."  
  
"Liz… what's wrong?" Gwen sounded more scared than upset now. "What aren't you telling me?"  
  
"I'll explain, I promise. But right now, I want you to call Seth, tell him to pack and to get over to your house," Sydney thought fast, racing up the stairs to her room. "Just trust me and believe that all I want is for you to be okay." Silence. Sydney opened and closed a few drawers, looking for something. "Please, Gwen." She found it, at the back of her bottom drawer with her old journals. The letter.  
  
There was still no reply from the other end of the line. "Gwen?"  
  
Gwen sighed audibly. "Okay. I will." Sydney nodded to herself. "And Liz… be safe."  
  
Sydney almost started to cry. "Thanks, Gwen… Now go."  
  
She listened for the dial tone, then hung up herself and ran to Melissa's room. Shaking her shoulder, Sydney tried to wake her up. "Mel, get up. Quick."  
  
Melissa opened her eyes and smiled. "Heya Liz."  
  
"Mel, Jay's dead." Melissa sat up as Sydney's eyes scanned the room. Something was wrong. She didn't know what. (Why had Mel been sleeping?)  
  
"Pack," she commanded Melissa, who was still in shock. "Pack now."  
  
"… What? How did he die? Why am I packing?" Melissa was completely awake now, and even though she obviously had no idea what was happening, Sydney was happy to see that she'd pulled out her suitcase and started throwing in clothes.  
  
"Jay was killed. Driven off the road." She turned to Melissa. "Someone killed him about half an hour ago. Right after he'd bought Gwen an engagement ring." Melissa gaped, everything forgotten for a second. Her eyes watered, and tears spilled forth, silent streams on her pale cheeks.  
  
"Jay… God, not him." Then her eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Gwen…" she trailed off, them cocked her head to the side. "No. Wait." She looked at Sydney, confused. "Why am I packing?"  
  
"You're not safe." Sydney continued scanning the room, knowing she was running out of time. She smelled something. (Gas?) "None of you are."  
  
"What, none of 'us'?" Melissa demanded. "What about you, Liz?"  
  
"The reason you're not safe is me." Sydney stated, looking at Melissa's face. "You, Gwen and Seth are leaving town tonight – now – and you're heading as far away as you can. Don't tell anyone where you're going. If you have to let family know you're alive, ring from payphones, for no longer than a minute." Sydney bit her lip as Melissa's eyes filled with tears. She walked over to her and handed her the letter. "Take this with you to Gwen's. It explains everything."  
  
Melissa looked at the envelope, then at Sydney, and another tear slipped down her cheek. "I can't leave, Liz." Melissa insisted. Sydney sighed. "I won't."  
  
"Yes, you will," Sydney said, in what she hoped was an authoritative tone. "God, Mel, you're fantastic. You're all fantastic. But Jay's been killed because he was seen with me today, and you all might be killed if you don't leave tonight, in one car. Someone take a cell, but…" she looked down at the envelope in Melissa's hand. "That tells you the truth about everything. Don't tell anyone outside you three. Run until I call you on your cell. Don't pick up any calls unless the phone rings - " she stopped, looking around. "Might be bugged," she mouthed. Melissa's eyes widened as Sydney held up her fingers. "Don't pick up any calls unless the phone rings-" She held up three fingers, then two, then one, then three, then four. She looked at Melissa imploringly. "Can you remember that?"  
  
Melissa looked at Sydney, her eyes begging her to reconsider – to let her stay, for Sydney to go. But Sydney was adamant. She shook her head. "You're going."  
  
Melissa sighed and picked up a nearby pen, writing on the back of the envelope before putting it in her pocket. "Okay," she finally said, forcing a small smile.  
  
Sydney looked at Melissa, and then leaned down and zipped up the suitcase on the bed. She straightened up and looked at the woman in front of her. "Go."  
  
"Bye Liz." Melissa breathed out, gave Sydney a one-armed hug, then grabbed the suitcase and ran from the room. Sydney didn't move as she listened to Melissa's car back out of the driveway and speed down the road. She knew they'd be okay. They had to be. Besides, one warning should have been enough for her this time. (Danny had been. She'd told him the truth, and he'd died. She wasn't going to let anyone else get killed because of her naivety, because she wouldn't believe what she knew. Not again.) The three of them would leave the town, the state, and keep going until she let them know it was okay to stop. They'd run and run and run, and would never cease unless they knew they would survive. (Why didn't Francie and Will listen? Why? They thought she was lying, and they were killed. Blood on the walls, blood on the carpet, blood on the couch, blood on her clothes… blood everywhere.)  
  
Sydney broke out of her reverie when the phone rang. She ran into the hall and picked it up, cursing the technology that was fast becoming her most loathed adversary.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Well, if it isn't Sydney Bristow." The voice made her blood curdle. Her teeth gritted as she walked down the hall to her room, shaking her head in disgust.  
  
"I see you got out alive, Sloane." The venom in her voice was clear. She hated him. She hated the creature he was. She hated this man for everything in her life. (For the nothing in her life)  
  
"As did you." Sloane sighed. "Sydney, when will you ever learn you can't run from us? You know we're always going to catch you."  
  
Sydney narrowed her eyes as she started to pack a small bag with all her essentials. Sloane continued to talk.  
  
"You were always so smart, Sydney. So smart. You should have known that we'd find you." Sydney gritted her teeth, angry; and yet wondering why Sloane was bothering to call her. Then it hit her. (The gas. That's why Melissa had been sleeping.)  
  
She started to pack more urgently, throwing clothes, her journals and anything else she needed in her backpack. A toothbrush, a comb and three packets of different colored hair dye went in, followed by packages of tinted contact lenses and six different pairs of glasses she never wore. Why had she kept this stuff?  
  
Sloane rambled on. "You're such an enigma, Sydney. You seem to be so collected when, in fact, you're quivering in terror. You never even think about what could be happening to you."  
  
Sydney clicked her bag shut and raced down the stairs, cordless still in hand. She picked up her handbag and keys, shoving them quickly in her backpack. Sloane was still talking, obviously trying to keep her in place for as long as possible, not even talking any sense really. He was stalling her, manipulating her thoughts to keep her frozen, weak.  
  
And the smell of gas in the house was getting stronger.  
  
Sydney grabbed a coat and pulled it on, knowing she would regret it later, and raced out the door. The phone still had reception, and Sloane was still talking.  
  
"Ahh, Sloane, I'd love to catch up and everything," Sydney smirked, "but I gotta run."  
  
(No more time.) She threw the phone to the ground and raced off down the street, cringing when she heard the house explode behind her. Car alarms went off on the street, and debris crashed into the neighbor's houses, causing people to scream.  
  
Sydney kept running, wondering just how clichéd the whole scene would seem to anyone else.  
  
She sprinted down roads and streets; thanking God she still kept in shape. She had no idea where she was going, but hoped something would show itself to her and give her an idea.  
  
She prayed that "something" wouldn't be a Lincoln.  
  
Because she had the worst luck in the world, three Lincolns chose that moment to screech into the street behind her. Sydney threw a quick glance over her shoulder at them and swore, amazed at how fast these people always managed to find her. She was nearing the center of town, and knew it would be harder for the cars to follow her in the busy streets, but she had no doubt that the manpower they held in those stupid SUVs was stronger and less fatigued than she was.  
  
She turned a corner, racing into a narrow street, wide enough for one car. The SUVs ground to a halt at the entry point, and at least eight men (God, can they ever wear anything less conspicuous that fucking Armani suits?) leaped out, guns in hand, transmitters in ears, ready to chase her to the edges of the earth.  
  
Sydney swore to herself that would be only way she was letting them get her.  
  
Another corner loomed ahead, and she turned right, into a street full of sidewalk cafes that opened only after six p.m. She rolled her eyes, wondering if the men behind her would trip over the tables. Another hundred yards down the street, she heard crashes from behind her and some people yelling. She let herself laugh for a second. //Typical. //  
  
She ran straight down the road, knowing she couldn't get off it for a while. Another three hundred yards down, there was an intersection. She had just passed an alley on her left, but that wouldn't do her any good.  
  
Especially since there was a Lincoln driving out of it.  
  
Sydney ran faster (she hoped) and wondered if this was how she was meant to die: Being gunned down like a criminal while racing along a quaint street. She'd always expected something more glamorous. Something along the lines of being killed while fighting for her country. She didn't know why; maybe it was the patriarchal way she'd been brought up (by a father who was never home after her mother was killed, and a nanny who spoke little English, let alone spoke much at all).  
  
Cursing herself for thinking of dying in the near future, Sydney forced herself to run even faster. Her legs were slowly tiring, but the intersection was coming up. She'd turn left. After that, she'd figure out what to do next.  
  
But the Lincoln was next to her by now. She was on the sidewalk, trying to not be so immediately obvious to the people of the town who were simply out for fun. //Because being chased down streets by an entourage of cars is *really* subtle.// The window of the Lincoln was wound down, but she didn't want to look over at the driver. Then, surprising her, the Lincoln swerved into a parking space about fifteen yards in front of her, and the door popped open. She kept running, slightly slower now, still aware of the men chasing after her, somewhat winded after their workout.  
  
The Lincoln was right in front of her. She sighed, decided she was sick of running, would try fighting instead, and stepped up to the door. She looked at the driver, his face set in a look of determination, his green eyes stony but still full of life, and gaped.  
  
"What…" she started.  
  
"Get in," he demanded.  
  
Sydney continued to gawk, surprised and yet… nope, just surprised.  
  
"Get *in*," the driver repeated, more forcefully this time.  
  
A bullet hit the mailbox in front of Sydney, and she jumped, climbing into the Lincoln and slamming the door as they sped away.  
  
Sydney looked over at the driver, amazed at how little he'd changed in the last two years. Since when was he on any duty other than sitting behind a desk? He was grimmer now, and she was sure there was a story behind that, but right now, he was the only thing in her life resembling a savior. ("My guardian angel.")  
  
"What's going on?" Sydney asked, her voice low, revealing her anxiety.  
  
Vaughn's face was slightly exhausted, she saw now. There was a shadow in his eyes that had never been there before, and for a minute, she was scared. He turned to her, his eyes full of concern and something else she couldn't pinpoint, and said the words she hadn't wanted to hear.  
  
"A lot."  
  
  
  
*  
  
::  
  
"You have to leave."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have to leave town. Tonight."  
  
Sydney laughed. Vaughn looked at her, his eyes full of unease.  
  
"God, Syd… do you know what might happen if you don't?"  
  
"Vaughn, it's over." She'd stopped laughing. "SD-6 is gone. You know that."  
  
"It should be." His voice was grave, but Sydney couldn't be thrown off. "The CIA isn't sure. *You* know that."  
  
Sydney looked away, staring at nothing. Why were they still in this warehouse? Why weren't they out in the open? They were safe now.  
  
(She wanted to feel the freedom, to celebrate it before it left her like everything else.)  
  
"Vaughn… I don't want to leave." She looked at him, standing above her in his suit (of armor) and wished he understood. She never wanted to leave (him). Never.  
  
His eyes softened. "Syd… you think I want you to leave? Of course not." He crossed to her, kneeling so their faces were on almost the same level. "I never want to let you go," he whispered, bringing tears to Sydney's eyes.  
  
"Then don't." The statement was simple, and Vaughn's eyes belied everything he felt for her. The pain in them was obvious, as was the longing. Sydney's chest ached with the love she felt for him, more so because she knew she'd never feel it for anyone else, and she sucked in a breath, worried about why Vaughn was so unrelenting about her leaving.  
  
"Vaughn…" she started. She bit her lip, not knowing what she wanted to say (not knowing the words that would explain what she wanted to say).  
  
"Here." Vaughn handed her a manila folder. He stared at her face as she opened it and glanced over its contents, the look on her face comprehending what she saw.  
  
"Elizabeth Whitby?" She looked at Vaughn again, her eyes hurt. "Why do I need this? And why now?"  
  
Vaughn sighed. "In case you need to run and can't stop for anything on the way." His eyes were imploring. "Please, Sydney."  
  
Sydney let the tears spill over. She bit her lip. "I don't have the strength to leave you." Her eyes searched his, knowing they reflected the conflict betrayed in hers.  
  
"Sydney…" Vaughn smiled sadly. "I love you. You know that, right?" She nodded. "That's never going to change. No matter where you are." His face became more solemn. "But please… you have to leave. Tonight. To be safe."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes. She couldn't. Didn't he realize that? She couldn't leave after knowing what they could have. She'd never leave.  
  
She told him this. She cried as he held her, whispering in her ear and making her stomach ache because of his perfection. At last, she told him she'd go, knowing she was lying, and hoping he didn't realize it.  
  
They stayed together for a long while.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Sydney ran into her apartment, dropping her purse and the file on the kitchen counter. She opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of orange juice, poured it into a glass. Placing the bottle back in the fridge, she turned towards the living room, sipping her juice.  
  
And choked.  
  
The glass fell to the ground, shattering on impact, and the shards slashed through the skin of her sandal-clad feet. But she didn't feel it. She was numb.  
  
She started to hyperventilate as she walked slowly towards the couch. She could hardly breathe. Her chest was tight as she looked at the floor. At the couch, at the wall, at the coffee table.  
  
At Francie and Will.  
  
A sob escaped her dry throat, and she grabbed at her stomach to stop from retching. Francie and Will were lying on the floor, their clothes soaked in blood. Will's glasses were cracked and lay next to the coffee table; Francie's shoe was on the couch. Her body was lying sprawled, almost twisted, one of her legs bent, the other straight, while he was completely rigid, hands by his sides, eyes open and staring into nothingness.  
  
(Dead eyes)  
  
Sydney fell to her knees between them, gasping and holding her stomach as the sobs tore from her. Her legs became covered by the blood that was soaked thick into the carpet (and the couch, and the clothes on their bodies) and she broke down. She reached out and touched Francie's cheek; only to have her fingers come away covered in dark, thick blood. Will was pale (death white), and the scarlet specks of blood stood out against his skin.  
  
Sydney died then. Her body kept going (her shell). Her legs picked her up off the floor, blood on her knees and hands and skirt, and carried her up the stairs to pack a bag. Those same legs carried her out to her car and helped her drive off. Her eyesight was blurry, her breathing was ragged, and her hands were shaking, but she managed to keep driving.  
  
But her soul, her essence, her life – it lay down between Francie and Will on the blood-soaked carpet, closed it's eyes and cried until it could cry no more. It lay there for an eternity, until after the bodies were found, until after the police were called, until after the apartment was sold to an unknowing couple from Minnesota.  
  
It lay there. And it died.  
  
::  
  
  
  
AN: Well, I hope you guys are enjoying it so far… I should have more up soon. In the meantime, though, I have nothing at all against feedback. Nothing at all…:) 


	4. New Haven

*  
  
Sydney stared out the car window at the bleakness of the dark highway. They were nearing New Haven, and had hardly exchanged more than a few words since she got in the car. The silence was heavy, tense, and yet familiar in a way Sydney didn't hate.  
  
Vaughn was more guarded. She'd managed to get that much from his demeanor. He stared straight ahead, driving fast enough to get them to where he thought they needed to be, but not so fast as to raise suspicions, and he looked more tired (drained), yawning once in awhile.  
  
The Navigator was comfortable – that much Sydney had to admit. She had thrown her bag on the backseat and laid back, doing nothing but thinking for the past three and a half hours. She'd gone over her whole situation time and time again, thinking through all the little things, all the insinuations, all the details. She didn't know why this had all decided to happen now – she'd expected at least a little more time, to be a little more safe (I'm losing my touch) - but she was almost too tired to argue through the thoughts any more.  
  
It was almost eleven thirty, which surprised Sydney. She thought it was earlier… but then again, time had escaped her recently. (She'd stare at the clock, wondering why the hands were moving so fast, so perfectly. She lost hours just staring at that clock, willing it to stop, to slow down.) She sighed, annoyed, and looked over at Vaughn, his eyes still on the long road stretching before them.  
  
"Say something, Vaughn." She glanced at her hands, thin and feminine, before raising her head to look back at him. "Please?"  
  
He sighed, and for a second she saw him, in his suit, in the warehouse, giving her instructions for one of her counter missions.  
  
The vision quickly disappeared.  
  
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, almost bitterly. He glanced at a road sign as they passed it. (New Haven – 19 miles.)  
  
"We'll stop in New Haven… get you something." His eyes flicked over to her, sadder than anything else, and then returned to the road. Sydney was disappointed.  
  
(After everything, he can't even look at me?)  
  
That realisation was the worst of all. She'd loved him so much, with every single cell of her bruised body, with every look she sent his way, with every word she uttered in his presence. (Even after all this time…) She knew he'd loved her as well – somewhere in his mind, his heart, his body, that small part of him that had damned protocol to Hell.  
  
(Almost two years…) If her heart still beat faster (still ached) just at the sight of him, why couldn't he at least give her a glance to show he remembered?  
  
Sydney sighed, still staring at the passing scenery. Her thoughts were all over the place. She couldn't decide whether to agonize about the things that mattered, or just about the random, fleeting thoughts that entered her mind. She still had very little idea about where Vaughn was taking her – and why everything had happened so fast. She was still practically reeling from the first sight of the Lincolns early that evening, and she still didn't quite believe where she was:  
  
Running from the enemy.  
  
In a car on a highway to nowhere.  
  
With Vaughn.  
  
Thinking about her situation prompted a hundred images to fill her mind, most of them of the not-so-good kind, and she didn't really want to deal with any of it. What she wanted was to be home – in a bubble bath – getting ready to go out with Seth while Melissa danced to techno music in her room down the hall. She wanted to worry about her ears and whether they stood out too much, and whether she should wear a skirt or pants. She wanted to watch old movies in her flannelette pajamas while drinking hot tea. She wanted things to be simple.  
  
(I want to be Elizabeth.)  
  
Sydney wondered if she'd ever see Melissa or Seth or Gwen ever again. She wondered where they were. Maybe they were on the same highway. Maybe they were heading for San Francisco, imagining they were on a college-style road trip. Maybe they hadn't left Portland, thinking 'Elizabeth' was just overreacting.  
  
Maybe they were dead.  
  
Sydney was sick of this never-ending thought circle. //Past. Death. Friends. Death. Future. Death. //  
  
(Death.)  
  
She refused to allow herself to imagine all the worst case scenarios… and yet they entered her mind anyway; visions of Melissa riddled with bullets, Gwen strangled by her own scarf, and Seth drowned in his bathtub.  
  
(Death and bathtubs.)  
  
Sydney bit her lip. This was making her crazy. She looked over at Vaughn again, who ignored her glare, and then reached over to turn on the radio, flicking it to an oldie station. As Dean Martin's voice filled the car, Sydney slowly tried to relax – to let herself calm down for the first time in the last twelve hours.  
  
It really didn't work.  
  
Thankfully, New Haven was no longer on the horizon – it was all around them. They drove down the now-quiet street, looking for a 7-11. Vaughn spotted one, and he pulled into the parking lot. There were two other cars in the lot – an old orange Volvo and a silver Mercedes – and no people in sight. Vaughn opened his door.  
  
"You have ten minutes."  
  
Sydney rolled her eyes as she got out of the car, taking her backpack with her. She followed Vaughn through the automated doors of the 7-11, tearing her eyes from his retreating back to look around her for the toiletries section. Spotting it to her left, she quickly walked towards it and started pulling things off the shelves. //Shampoo. Toothpaste. Floss.// She glanced at the range of hair dyes, quickly figured that she already had enough, and strolled to the counter, her arms full.  
  
Vaughn was just leaving the store, cell phone in hand, looking stressed, and Sydney wondered what had wound him up now. //Whatever. Not like he'll tell me anyway.// She shook her head, put the bottles and various containers down, and leaned towards the middle-aged man behind the counter.  
  
"Is there an ATM around here anywhere?"  
  
"Out the door, to the left." The man replied in a monotone, sounding tired, bored, impersonal. He started swiping the products through, not once looking at Sydney. //I miss Mr. Benucci.//  
  
Paying for her small amount of groceries, Sydney stuffed the plastic bag in her backpack, smiled slightly at the man, who grunted in response, and left the store. Looking around for Vaughn, she spotted him, sitting on the hood of the Mercedes in his jeans and sweater, which she was still not quite used to. (Suits.) She furrowed her brow and considered asking him a question, but then thought the better of it and simply walked over to the lit-up ATM, withdrawing all the money from her accounts.  
  
(Goodbye, Elizabeth.)  
  
The crisp, new notes spewed forth, and Sydney grabbed the wads, shoving them in her wallet, her bag, her jeans pockets. She turned and strode towards the Mercedes, throwing all her cards in a trashcan on the sidewalk.  
  
Vaughn watched her unblinkingly, maybe without feeling, but she was sure she could see awkwardness in his eyes, some kind of insecurity. (That makes two of us.) Sydney stopped right in front of him, between his knees, tired. Annoyed. Sick of the nothing. ("I never want to let you go.") She stared into his green eyes, now emerald and reflecting the neon lights of the store behind her, and asked him one question.  
  
"Why can't you *look* at me?"  
  
Vaughn blinked, and then his entire facial expression changed. His eyes went from stern and unfeeling to sad and distant, and Sydney's stomach ached at the pain she saw in them. He wasn't masking it – he was hurt. Horribly, terribly hurt. He then looked at her, really *looked*, (please) and Sydney's breath caught.  
  
"I can't look at you… because if I do, I won't be able to take my eyes off you."  
  
Vaughn spoke softly, quietly, genuinely. The pure honesty in his eyes (jade pools of light) was all Sydney could grasp, and she finally sucked in a small, shuddering breath, closing her eyes.  
  
When she felt Vaughn's hand cupping her face, she opened them. He was half- smiling at her, his face more open than before (but still marred). She smiled back sadly, feeling his touch, his warmth, his everything in every fibre of her body. (Light and dizzy…)  
  
"Come on," he whispered. "Let's go."  
  
Sydney nodded and stepped back, the feeling of Vaughn's fingers on her cheek burned into her skin even after his hand left her face and opened the door of the Mercedes, closed it after himself, turned the key in the ignition.  
  
Sydney climbed in right after him, almost confused. "You have keys?" she asked, curious and surprised. "How do you have keys?"  
  
Vaughn chuckled, and Sydney grinned. (This is Vaughn) "Weiss drove it here an hour ago." He turned right onto College Street, glancing quickly in the rear view mirror. "I had one set of keys in the first place."  
  
Sydney nodded approvingly. "Nice." She glanced at the grey upholstery, then at the backseat, and didn't bother to hide her surprise. "Prepared much?"  
  
Vaughn smiled again as Sydney shook her head in bewilderment. The backseat had two boxes sitting on it, along with about seven blankets, two duffel bags full of what seemed to be clothes, and an amazing array of government- issue gadgets. She smiled sadly, realising that she'd missed the excitement that came with being an agent. But the thought didn't fit right with her current situation, so she passed over it quickly. As Vaughn made a left, Sydney reached over and pulled up a flap on one of the boxes. Food.  
  
She turned back around, finally feeling lighter. Not much, but slightly. She smiled to herself, then looked over at Vaughn.  
  
"So," she started, "where are we headed?"  
  
"Safe house," Vaughn replied. Sydney immediately felt a spark of hope ignite in her, making her feel like there was a chance. "Lawrenceville, New Jersey. We get there, we contact the CIA, and they get us out."  
  
Sydney nodded. "That's it?" she asked as an afterthought.  
  
Vaughn squinted slightly, thinking. "Plan B is we keep running." He shrugged, then glanced over at her, the orange light of the streetlamps passing over his features. "Hopefully, that won't be something we won't have to worry about."  
  
"Hopefully." Sydney stared out the window as Vaughn's eyes returned to the road. "Another thing I…" she trailed off.  
  
"Yeah…?" Vaughn prompted.  
  
"Exactly… what have I missed?" She looked over at him, almost instantly regretting the question. Vaughn sighed and visibly tensed up, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. A moment or two passed in silence while he shifted gears and changed lanes. Then he launched into the story.  
  
"When SD-6 was destroyed, the whole area around the bank blew up. Of course, everything was almost completely indistinguishable. It took a long while for bodies to be identified, and for anything to be salvaged at all. A lot of people were killed that day for no reason, both at Credit Dauphine and SD-6 itself. You obviously know all that, though." Vaughn glanced over at her, and she nodded silently. He sighed again and continued.  
  
"Well, Sloane wasn't there. Neither was your father. But you knew that as well. And a lot of the original members and agents of SD-6 escaped before the blast, basically ready to form again. With whatever a small group they had at the time, they killed anyone who might've been a threat to them… like you." He switched lanes again. "They at some point realised you as the mole, and decided that you might be a hazard to them. But you got out before they managed to find you. They regrouped, re-formed…" Sydney's eyes widened. "SD-6 started over with a lot of help from the rest of the Alliance. They set up base again, this time in San Francisco."  
  
Vaughn's green eyes flicked over to Sydney, and she was surprised by the concern and sincerity in them. "They've been looking for you for eighteen months now, hell bent on getting rid of you and anyone around you that you might have confided in." He paused. "Like Jay."  
  
Sydney looked out the window, her fist clenching, her throat constricting at the thought of Jay. Of Gwen. Vaughn cleared his throat uncomfortably and went on.  
  
"Basically, what's happened now is that SD-6 had a contact in the CIA who pulled your file. A team was sent out this morning to kill you and those around you. They followed you all day, blew up your house. They wanted to drive you insane…" he trailed off. "The contact was killed this afternoon, by one of SD-6's snipers, as far as we know. They probably wanted to get rid of anyone who had anything on them. We've been able to establish that they're much, much more careful now." He glanced over at her again, then took the next exit off I-95, shaking his head slightly.  
  
"We weren't sure what was happening." He looked at her intently. "When we found out what happened, I was taken off my current case and told to come get you. If I'd known earlier, I would've gotten you out before anything happened." He smiled at her faintly, and Sydney nodded back, taking in the information while noticing how his voice hadn't changed. He still had the same informative, authoritative and yet unsure tone.  
  
(I missed you.)  
  
"What case were you taken off?" Sydney asked him, curious.  
  
"I was in the Ukraine." Sydney raised her eyebrows. "Looking for an assassin who had supposed information on the Alliance. Some kind of "important" information." He smirked. "I didn't find him, but maybe the agents who stayed over there will have some luck. Who knows?"  
  
"You're out in the field a lot now?" Sydney smiled at the thought.  
  
"Yeah," Vaughn nodded. "Amazingly, they decided that I'd be good at it. So they sent me out… and liked what I did." He shrugged. "I'm out of the country a fair bit now. Jet lag's a permanent friend." He chuckled. "No spandex or tight leather for me, though."  
  
Sydney grinned at him. "Congratulations. I'm sure you do a great job."  
  
"Yeah, well," Vaughn smirked again. "Right now, this is probably one of the hardest things I've done in the last year." Sydney nodded. "There are so many people after you, Sydney." He looked over at her, his face cheerless and troubled. He seemed to pause, thinking. Driving onto a bridge, he spoke quietly.  
  
"It's really good to see you again, Syd."  
  
Sydney looked at him, at the light shining on him as they drove, and felt her heart squeeze in her chest. She felt as though she were breaking into tiny pieces of glass, and this man was the only thing keeping her together. He was here, again, saving her from death, from life. From herself.  
  
"It's good to see you again, too."  
  
  
  
*  
  
AN: Okay everyone, I know this is much slower… but it had to be done. I do apologise profusely, though. :( In case you want to know, the next part will be more exciting. I promise. 


	5. Lawrenceville

*  
  
Sydney had slept. Eaten. Thought. She'd even exchanged a few more measly sentences with Vaughn. The silence was less awkward now, but it was still silence. She glanced over at Vaughn. She didn't know what he was thinking, what was running through his mind. And even though she'd probably never find out… she still really, really wanted to know.  
  
They were on Lawrenceville Road now, close to the safe house – according to Vaughn, anyway – and Sydney was beginning to feel better. More hopeful. She could disappear again, into thin air, into crowded cities… //Maybe I'll go blonde again… or maybe I'll just go overseas.// Peaceful thoughts filled her mind, walks in parks, along busy streets where she didn't have to worry about being spotted. She hoped they'd send her to Germany. Or maybe Austria, or France. She could probably do quite well in Italy, too. Knowing that she could speak more than English definitely gave her choices, choices she'd ever really wanted to think about before.  
  
Vaughn turned left.  
  
Sydney's dream vanished.  
  
She knew it would never happen – that that little built-up world of carefree memories and simple things (like freedom) would suddenly burst out of nowhere and envelop her current life in an embrace of rose petals and silk. That she'd be able to live naively, taking every moment for granted, never thinking twice about telling people where she worked. She thought she'd found it in Portland – that little piece of happiness she'd always dreamed of.  
  
But it hadn't quite worked out the way she'd planned.  
  
Somehow, though, being in the Mercedes, so close to safety, with Vaughn in the seat next to her, everything seemed horribly simple and uncomplicated. And as Vaughn pulled up in front of a small, quaint-looking house, Sydney was once again reminded of what she wanted.  
  
A life.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
The engine stopped, and Vaughn's hands dropped to his knees. The keys jingled, still in the ignition, and Vaughn raised his eyebrows slightly as he turned to her.  
  
"Well," he gestured to the house in front of them, "here we are."  
  
Sydney took in the building before her as she got out of the car, backpack in hand. It was set a fair bit back from the street, surrounded by trees. Small. Charming. Private. She nodded to herself as she followed Vaughn to the veranda. Pulling out his keys, he quickly opened the door and stood aside, motioning for Sydney to enter first. She smiled at him, mumbled a "Thanks," and glanced towards her feet as she stepped over the threshold. Once inside, she stood to the right, trying to let her eyes adjust to the darkness as Vaughn closed the door behind him and started fumbling around for a light switch.  
  
Sydney moved to the side, then let out an "oops" when she bumped into Vaughn. She stepped away from him, and then blinked as he found the switch and the room was flooded with light. Sydney took a quick look around. They were in the hallway, painted a warm, pale yellow that matched the walls and furniture in the living room on the left, and a small table stood against the wall on her right, next to the entrance of the old-fashioned, homey kitchen.  
  
She looked back at Vaughn. They stood awkwardly in the hall, trying to avoid eye contact. Sydney could hear his quiet breathing, feel the heat radiating from his body, and she sucked in a breath, wondering what to say to him. Wondering why it was so hard to *think* of something to say to him. (It's just him. It's just Vaughn.)  
  
(It's Vaughn.)  
  
He broke the silence, his green eyes focused on the tiled floor of the entryway. "So… uh." He fleetingly looked around, then stuck his hands in his pockets. "Make yourself at home." He shrugged and then moved his hand in the general direction of the rest of the house.  
  
Sydney nodded and headed off to find a shower. She heard Vaughn let out a long breath behind her, and she was hit with the familiarity of the situation – of being so uncomfortable while feeling completely safe.  
  
(I never kissed him)  
  
The thought burst to the front of her mind, and she paused at the door of what appeared to be the bathroom. Turning, she bit her lip.  
  
Vaughn was in the living room. His back was to her, and she looked at his shoulders – the ones she'd looked at in the warehouse, in the bloodmobile, at the florist. She watched him as he sat down on the couch, side-on to her, and leaned down to pull off his shoes. Sydney shrunk into the doorway as he set the sneakers aside and fell back on the couch, sinking into its cushions, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair.  
  
She watched him in silence for a moment as he breathed deeply, and then she spoke.  
  
"Vaughn."  
  
He opened his eyes and swivelled his head in her direction. He looked tired, worn out… and yet he was so concerned.  
  
"Hmm?" His eyes focused on hers, and she paused for a second.  
  
"I just…" she shrugged, smiling slightly. "I just wanted to say… thankyou."  
  
Vaughn smiled wryly, glancing down before looking back at her with his patented green gaze. "What for?"  
  
Sydney studied him for a moment. He continued to look at her, into her, and she flicked on the light in the bathroom.  
  
"For everything."  
  
(You are everything)  
  
Vaughn smiled.  
  
She shut the door of the bathroom and surveyed it, with it's blue tiles and fluffy white towels, and then paused for a minute. The place was quiet, and for a second she worried – about Vaughn, about where she'd end up, about her missing-in-action father, about the ATM at the 7-11. She knew it hadn't been the smartest idea, but she'd figured getting all her money in one place would be better and less obvious than leaving a clean, "Liz Whitby was here" withdrawal trail in her wake. And besides, New Haven was only one place. There were many places they could have gone from there, if anyone ever tried to look for them.  
  
(And this is a safe house)  
  
She turned on the faucet in the shower.  
  
*  
  
"And I love the way you smile at me  
  
I love the way your hands reach out and  
  
Hold me near…"  
  
*  
  
She'd never kissed him.  
  
In all that time, she'd never gotten that close. She'd thought about it, obviously. Dreamed about it, sure. Fantasised about his being so startlingly close to her that his skin would make itself into hers.  
  
But it had never happened.  
  
The night Sydney Bristow had become Elizabeth Whitby, she'd been close. He'd told her he loved her, she'd nodded (why didn't I say something more? Why do I always nod? Why am I so stupid?), they'd embraced… but nothing more. She'd left the warehouse that night convinced that she'd see him again soon. Convinced she'd kiss him in a better setting, a better place. Convinced she'd stay forever.  
  
It was only when she was on the train to New York that she allowed him to enter into her catatonic, silent world. Six hours into the ride, after seven quarter-hour, useless naps and two apples she'd bought outside the train station, thoughts of Vaughn entered her mind. Thoughts of his forgiving eyes, his angular jaw, of his amazing smile that could undo any wrong.  
  
Francie and Will on the living room floor (blood) had imprinted themselves into the backs of her eyes, and she'd cried for hours just about the realisation that, if it hadn't been for her, they'd still be alive.  
  
(My fault)  
  
Will's cold eyes gazing into space. Francie's twisted body. All of it was because of her.  
  
(My fault)  
  
The elderly man in the seat behind her had patted Sydney on the shoulder, handed her a clean handkerchief and said, in his Southern accent, "Trust me, darlin', you'll find the right boy someday." The man had smiled, his skin crinkling around his blue eyes, and Sydney had only thought of Will. How he'd never find his story, how he'd never reach this man's age. How Francie would never find her perfect life, how she'd never get married.  
  
(My fault)  
  
Worst part was, Sydney knew the man was right. She'd find "the right boy" someday. She'd find him, be happy, disillusioned with the fantastical images of a future, maybe even get so close that she wouldn't be able to breathe if she wasn't with him. (Like with Vaughn)  
  
But there was still the half-intelligent voice screaming in the back of her mind. The one that insisted that she was kidding herself if she thought that finding 'him' would be easy, if attainable at all.  
  
The other part of Sydney, though, trusted that she would find the man worth giving everything up for, the one worth living for, the one worth everything in every single sense of the word. She'd find him one day, most likely when she came home from work.  
  
Find him dead.  
  
(Blood)  
  
So she stayed detached.  
  
//Less pain that way.//  
  
*  
  
Sydney left the bathroom, clad in her jeans and feeling hungry. A mixture of breakfast smells wafted from the kitchen, and she sniffed slightly at the air. Bacon? Curious, she placed her backpack on the tiled floor and tiptoed barefoot to the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment and approval at what she saw.  
  
Vaughn stood in front of the small electric stove, his back to Sydney, frying eggs and bacon. Toast lay on a platter on the bench next to him, as did two plates, and two glasses stood next to knives and forks on the countertop right in front of Sydney. She leaned on it silently, smiling.  
  
"Breakfast?"  
  
Vaughn jumped at the sound of her voice and turned around. Sydney laughed at the surprise on his face, and he chuckled.  
  
"Bad hearing," he grinned by way of explanation, his dimples showing and lighting up the room. "And yes, breakfast."  
  
She glanced at the teapot-shaped clock on the wall, it's bright colours and loud ticking adding atmosphere to the room. "It's quarter to three in the morning, Vaughn."  
  
He turned back to the stove. She watched his hands, tanned and beautifully shaped, stared at his left wrist and realised how much she adored the sight of his silver watch against his skin. It made him look organised, prepared, primed, but not in an overachieving way. The watch suited him perfectly, standard government apparel that it was, and complimented him entirely.  
  
She shook her head, tearing her eyes away from him when she realised he'd spoken. "Pardon?"  
  
He didn't seem to notice her slip in concentration. "I rang the CIA while you were in the shower. Talked to Weiss. A team will be here at about five." He paused. "You know… to get you out. Of here."  
  
Sydney looked away, realising fully well that she only had two hours left until she had to vanish again. Two hours until she disappeared again, went into hiding, and yet she was hiding already, in a building deemed safe by the Central Intelligence Agency, with a man who – even though she'd tried – she'd never been able to hide herself from.  
  
Vaughn continued. "I wasn't sure when you'd get to eat your next half- decent meal, and I was kinda hungry, so…" he trailed off, turning to her and placing a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. The platter of toast went to her right, and Vaughn then walked around the counter with his own plate and sat next to her.  
  
Sydney stared at the bacon, her stomach grumbling. "Thanks." She looked over at Vaughn, at his profile, his bumped nose, his tousled hair. "I didn't know you could…" she shook her head. "Well, cook."  
  
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me." Blunt. Direct. Honest. Wounding.  
  
Sydney stopped and looked away, hurt forming in the pit of her stomach and overwhelming the hunger. She knew how the rest of that thought went. //There are a lot of things you don't know about me. There are a lot of things you'll never know about me. // Vaughn, too, had paused, staring at his fork as though it held all the answers to this twisted concept of reality.  
  
Sydney nodded wryly, almost smirking at the pathetic situation they were in. Bringing her fork to her lips, she ate a piece bacon, savouring its taste, savouring the fact that it was food. They ate in silence for a few minutes, her mind running over the words that still hung in the air. She didn't want to participate in another one of those conversations. It made her think too much. So she skipped to a topic that had been nagging at her for over a year.  
  
"Do you know what happened to my father?"  
  
Vaughn finished chewing his toast, taking a sip of apple juice. He stared at the beads of condensation on the glass before speaking.  
  
"Your father… he wasn't there during the blast. When SD-6 decided to destroy themselves and then reform, he came to us. He told us what he knew was happening, what he knew was going to happen… and he asked us to give him a new name, a new place to live. He also decided to be outside the States."  
  
Sydney froze. "So… he's alive?"  
  
Vaughn nodded. "He's in Osnabrück, Germany. He's fine. Happy to be out of the line of fire."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes, which had started to water. "He was glad to move on." She shook her head, pissed off. "Wonderful. I'm so happy he told me." She picked up her plate, her meal unfinished, and carried it to the sink. Throwing the remaining food in the trash, she turned on the water and started scrubbing at the plate.  
  
Vaughn sat silently behind her. She knew he didn't know what to say, and she realised that for once, she wanted silence.  
  
Her father was alive.  
  
Tears started to spill down her cheeks, and she was rewarded by the fact that Vaughn couldn't see them. She knew she wasn't completely angry with her father – she could try, but there was no real reason. He'd done what she had – he'd run. He'd escaped, as she had, and was probably enjoying not having to worry anymore. She'd felt the same.  
  
But she'd never contacted him because she'd thought he was dead. He, on the other hand, had obviously known she was alive. So why hadn't he done anything to contact her?  
  
The tears continued to fall, and she continued to let them. She was sore from running, from lack of sleep, from thinking. Everything hurt, physically and not, and she wasn't sure how much more she could take. She'd thought she'd left this kind of confusion behind.  
  
Obviously not.  
  
Why hadn't her father contacted her? He easily could have. Jack Bristow could get anything he wanted just by asking in his stern voice, with his eyes commanding obedience. Apparently, she wasn't something he cared about.  
  
She felt sick.  
  
Sydney turned off the tap, wiping her eyes with the back of her long sleeve. She stood by the sink for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to breathe steadily, trying to stop thinking about everything around her.  
  
(Why couldn't they all leave me alone?)  
  
"I'm sorry." She said the words quietly, but knew Vaughn could hear her. She could hear him stir; hear the plate be moved on the bench.  
  
"Why are you apologising to me?"  
  
She smirked, her eyes still overflowing. "I'm sorry for all this. You shouldn't have had to follow me. After LA…" she stopped, looking out the window above the sink into the trees beyond. She didn't quite know why she was saying all this, and yet she did. Some part of her needed to get it out.  
  
"In Portland, I was sure I was okay. Things were simpler than they had almost ever been, and I was so thankful for having that." She shook her head. "Now… now this has happened, and I don't know if I'll see Mel again, or Gwen, or Seth… and Jay… he's dead." She looked down at her hands, wrinkled slightly because of the hot water, choosing her words. "I'm apologising because you should be living free, not having to give a shit about where I am or what I'm doing. Instead… I've pretty much drawn you back into this sick version of a life that constitutes as my world, and you're not only here with me, you're in the middle of everything. You shouldn't be. You should be home, watching hockey. Or in the Ukraine, being Spy Boy." She bit her lip, knowing this was hurting her more than him. "Just… You shouldn't be here."  
  
She became quiet again, realising her little rant was overdone. Yes, it was true… but did she really want him to leave? (No. Not again) He was the one thing holding her together. If he left…  
  
(I'd keep going. As I always do)  
  
But maybe she didn't want to.  
  
After a few minutes, she felt Vaughn's arms slip around her waist. His hands covered hers, and she curled herself into him, moving her head into the crook of his neck. He looked down at their hands, tightening his arms around her, his body warm, reassuring, soothing. Closing her eyes, Sydney let the tears flow freely, wishing for all the world that she wasn't in this situation. Wished she were crying over something simple. Wished she knew what simple was.  
  
Vaughn pulled away slightly, and Sydney turned to him. His eyes were gentle, and he searched her face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.  
  
"Sydney, I…" he broke off, and she started to breathe heavier, her heart pounding in her chest as he leaned closer to her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she waited for his lips to touch hers. He was so close…  
  
Her eyes flew open. "Wait."  
  
Vaughn froze. His eyes opened, his lashes almost brushing against her skin. The confusion in his eyes was blatant, and his hand dropped from her face as he moved back. Sydney let out a breath, immediately regretting losing the feeling of his body against hers. She paused for a second, staring at Vaughn as he became interested in the mahogany-coloured tiles covering the floor.  
  
"You're right." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. The pain in the two words was obvious, and Sydney felt like she'd been stabbed. "You're leaving, and…" he trailed off, pressing his lips together and continuing to stare at the floor.  
  
Sydney was upset. She shook her head. "God, Vaughn… it's nothing like that." She moved closer to him, then felt everything leave her as he took a step away from her. She paused, then whispered, "Vaughn – someone's here."  
  
His eyes widened. "What?" She held up a finger and cocked her head towards the window. There was silence, and for a second Vaughn looked at her as if to say, "are you sure?"  
  
Then he heard the footsteps.  
  
"We have to leave." She mouthed. The words rang familiarly in her mind, but she didn't have time to think about it as she ran to fetch her backpack and shoes. When she turned around, Vaughn was shoving his feet into his sneakers, cell phone in hand yet again, worry creasing his features. She stopped in the hallway.  
  
"Shit," she whispered loudly. "Which way do we go?"  
  
Vaughn looked up, and she could see his mind working. He quickly walked over to her, leaning close so she could hear him. "I think they'd expect us to go out the back," he murmured. She nodded and followed him to the door, praying they'd survive this. Vaughn opened the door, and they stepped outside into the morning dew.  
  
They made it to the drive before the shooting started.  
  
Shots hit the gravel at their feet, and Sydney swore as they ran for the Mercedes. She fleetingly wondered why the first shots never managed to make their mark. //You'd think they'd have better skills. // She sprinted, Vaughn right in front of her. //Ten metres…// Vaughn yelled and seemed to slow down, and Sydney almost screamed herself when she saw the blood flowing from his shoulder. Footsteps were following them down the drive, and Sydney cursed whoever was behind her.  
  
She grabbed Vaughn's other arm. "Give me the keys!" He obliged, and Sydney opened the passenger side door, ready to run around the car to open hers as more gunfire burst out behind them.  
  
"No…"  
  
She turned in time to see Vaughn fall to the ground.  
  
* 


	6. Deliver Me...

*  
  
"All of my life, I've been in hiding  
  
Wishing there was someone just like you  
  
Now that you're here, now that I've found you  
  
I know that you're the one to pull me through…"  
  
*  
  
:: Bali : 2002 ::  
  
"You in?"  
  
"Just a second…" Sydney waited for the descrambler to give her the security code. The electric panel on the wall beeped, lighted up green, and opened the door to her left. Taking the descrambler, she walked into the lab, glancing around.  
  
"Vaughn, I'm in."  
  
"Okay." She heard him breathe out, and smiled, wondering if it was as hot in L.A. as it was in Indonesia. Wondered if Vaughn felt warmer when he heard her voice (like what happens to me when I hear his).  
  
"To your left, there should be a metal filing cabinet."  
  
Sydney turned. "Got it." She walked over to it. "Drawer?"  
  
"Second from the top."  
  
Sydney opened it and glanced inside. She paused. "Uh… Vaughn?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"It's empty." She looked around her, worried. "Is it meant to be empty?"  
  
"No…" Vaughn paused. "We know it's in the second drawer. Reach in. There could be a fake bottom."  
  
Sydney knocked on the bottom of the drawer. It sounded hollow, and she nodded before realizing that Vaughn couldn't see her. //Duh.// "Yep," she acknowledged. "Fake bottom."  
  
"Good," Vaughn declared. "Okay. It's in there that you should find the key to the drawer on the far side of the lab. There, you'll find the files and the VT-44."  
  
Sydney grabbed the key after pulling out the false bottom and raced to the other end of the room. Opening the only drawer with a lock on it, she grabbed the file folder marked 'Virus VT-44' and the vial with the same label.  
  
"Got them." Sydney pulled out her small camera and photographed the files, swapped the vial with the dummy copy, and locked the drawer, running back to the filing cabinet to replace the key. //Too easy.// "All set," she said through the earpiece. "I'm out of here."  
  
"Good on ya, Syd." She could almost hear Vaughn smile, and she allowed herself a grin at the thought of him in the dark CIA Field Ops room, green and blue computer lights flickering around him. She was already looking forward to seeing him again, even though she'd only left L.A. the day before. She sighed as she walked quickly out the door, pressing a button on the security panel to close it again and give the appearance that nothing had happened.  
  
She was jogging quietly down the hallway when she heard voices. She froze, pressing herself against the wall, and listened to make sure she wasn't imagining things.  
  
Men. At least three of them, around the corner from her. And judging by their angry tones, they weren't assembling for a simple security check. Sydney started to creep backwards down the hall, sticking to the wall, trying to remain as silent as possible.  
  
The descrambler fell to the floor.  
  
Sydney's eyes widened, and she stooped to pick it up. //How the hell did that happen?!// She looked at her jacket. //Open pocket. Right. Great going, Sydney.//  
  
She fumed silently, and prepared herself for what was obviously going to come next.  
  
The voices stopped (that's not a good sign) so she chose a direction (forwards) and began to move quickly. The three men came quickly around the corner, and one of them yelled, pointing at her.  
  
"Situ!" He shouted what Sydney expected meant 'there'. Her Indonesian may have been rusty, but her flight reflex was anything but that. She turned and sprinted down the hall, her pounding footsteps echoing along with the men's behind her as she turned right into another corridor.  
  
"Syd?" Vaughn's voice asked in her ear. "What's going on?" (I love his voice)  
  
"They're chasing me," Sydney panted out. "But there's a window; I'm going for it." She sprinted faster towards the end of the hallway, praying she didn't break too many bones on her way out.  
  
"Syd, don't. You're three floors up –"  
  
"No other way." Sydney stopped at the window, trying to open it. Locked. She stood back and kicked her booted foot through the glass, realizing that the footsteps behind her were much closer, and the men were still yelling at her.  
  
"Perhentian!" //Stop.// She knew that one. Glancing out the window, she was thankful to see a ledge. She climbed out, keeping to the cold, stone wall, and sidestepped her way to the corner of the building. The men were arguing behind her, most likely about who was going to follow her, and she shook her head in disgust as she jumped from the ledge to the roof below. She started moving again after she'd allowed her feet a few seconds to react to the shock of the drop. Leaping again, she landed on top of an empty bus, and then she jumped down to the dirt road, pain shooting up through her legs as she got up hurriedly and ran off.  
  
"Okay. I'm free." Sydney smiled a few minutes later as she raced down the road, her hair whipping back from her face in the hot air.  
  
"You're amazing." Words she'd heard from Vaughn before, but for some reason, meaning more to her now. Meaning so much more to her now. She smiled wider, feeling better than she had in weeks.  
  
"You're not too bad yourself."  
  
He laughed, and she closed her eyes for a second, imagining how he looked at that moment. How he always looked when he laughed. (And I love his smile)  
  
"Thank you, Vaughn," she said, running around a corner and slowing down slightly. She was silent for a moment as she thought of her next words. "You pull me through." There was a pause.  
  
"It's my pleasure, Sydney."  
  
She bit her lip. She wanted to see him, to be near him, to hold him. All this time, and she still wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his body next to hers. (Anywhere) She took a short breath. "I'll see you when I get back." She switched off the transmitter and continued running, looking up at the starry sky as she passed the small buildings at the side of the road.  
  
She smiled.  
  
::  
  
*  
  
"All of my life, I was in hiding  
  
Wishing there was someone just like you  
  
Now that you're here, now that I've found you  
  
I know that you're the one to pull me through…"  
  
*  
  
Sydney couldn't breathe. Vaughn fell to the ground, his mouth open in shock, and she ran back around the car to pick him up, to get him back, hoping he was overreacting, that it was nothing but a scrape, that he hadn't been shot anywhere fatal. Everything passed through her mind – everyone who'd died because of her. Danny, Will, Francie, Jay… she couldn't lose Vaughn.  
  
(Please, God. Just once. Please. Give me Vaughn.)  
  
He was on the ground, his eyes closed in pain, clutching his calf. (Yes) Sydney almost smiled through her gasps of breath as she reached down and touched Vaughn's face, the slight stubble scratching her fingertips.  
  
"Come on, Vaughn," she choked out. "Quick. Please."  
  
Vaughn looked up at her, his eyes shining, and nodded. Sydney pulled him up by his arm and practically shoved him into the car, slamming the door and racing back around to the driver's side. Bullets hit the car, and she hoped the CIA had had the intelligence to at least bulletproof the windows.  
  
She slid into the car and thrust the key in the ignition, thanking God when she was able o start the car and speed off down the road (to nowhere). She turned a few corners, not quite sure where she was going, driving fast and carefully so as not to jostle Vaughn.  
  
//Isn't he hurt enough already?//  
  
Sydney looked over at him. He was gritting his teeth, both his hands covering his leg, the blood seeping through his faded jeans and slowly dripping onto his shoe. Sydney took a deep shuddering breath. Vaughn's voice surprised her.  
  
"We have to ditch the car." Vaughn turned to her, his eyes pained but determined. (He's so unbreakable. Why did he change so much?) He continued. "They might have put a transmitter on it… who knows?"  
  
"First, we have to find you a hospital." Sydney stated, her eyes on the road. "There is no way in hell that I'm letting you stay like this."  
  
Vaughn tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "I'm fine," he insisted.  
  
Sydney smirked, shaking her head. (I'm scared.) "You still suck at lying." (And please make that still last. Get old. Stay with me. Please.) She glanced in the rear-view before looking quickly at the backseat. "Did Weiss, by any chance, put a first aid kit back there?"  
  
"Yeah," Vaughn replied.  
  
Sydney bit her lip. "Can you reach?" Vaughn nodded and turned, reaching under Sydney's seat with his blood-covered hand for the plastic box. She held her breath as he moved past her, his soft scent curling around her like a blanket, and almost froze when his sweater brushed past her arm as she changed gears. Sydney tried to shake off the spark, driving speedily down the highway as Vaughn pulled up his jeans, wincing, and bandaged his calf as well as a man in the preliminary stages of shock could. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. The bullet seemed to have gone straight through, whilst his shoulder had only been grazed, and Sydney was worried. He'd been shot – twice – and even though she'd taken worse (much worse) he was still just him. (Vaughn.) She didn't know whether he could take it, and she didn't know when they'd get to a hospital.  
  
The image of them standing close in the kitchen of the almost-safe house fleeted through her mind, but she dismissed it, focusing on what was happening around her. (Focus, Sydney. Focus on now.)  
  
Vaughn placed the box back under the seat after cleaning up his shoulder and turned back to the front, his face slightly paler than it had been, small beads of sweat gathering at his temples. Worry seemed really only applicable to old ladies and chartered accountants in Sydney's fast paced world, but as she looked over at him, and was unable to help herself; she worried.  
  
Vaughn saw the look on her face and tried to smile again. And again, it was more like a grimace. "I'm fine," he assured her again. His eyes belied more pain than reassurance, but he continued. "I've had worse than this." (Where? When? Will you ever tell me? I want to know, Vaughn. I really want to know.)  
  
Sydney simply nodded, her heart constricting at the thought of Vaughn in more pain than he was now. She didn't speak, unsure of whether her voice would work, unsure about whether she'd say the right things. Vaughn looked at her intently, his eyes hurt but resolute.  
  
"Really, I've had worse. I'm fine." And then, more softly, "Trust me."  
  
So she did.  
  
*  
  
  
  
AN: Song is "Deliver Me" by Sarah Brightman. Previous chapter's is "Elsewhere" by Sarah McLachlan, which I seem to have forgotten to mention… sorry! 


	7. Charleston in Pink

*  
  
: Charleston, West Virginia  
  
Early afternoon. Sydney stood in the small motel room, wondering if it was safe to stay the night (I wonder if we're far enough away), questioning her surroundings.  
  
Double bed. (Hmm.) Couch. (There's gonna be problems here.) Rocking chair in the corner. (That's definitely weird.) Pale pink walls, bathroom to her left, pale pink carpet, small window to her right, pale pink curtains, bags on the floor behind her. (Hmm.) The room was too… lively. Okay, so maybe shitty was a better adjective, but it didn't change the fact that the décor wasn't right. It didn't fit the situation. It was too… (Too pink?) Sydney thought wryly. She smirked, moving to the bags and boxes on the floor. (It's too pink for *any* situation.)  
  
She rummaged through the bag of clothes, finding a decent, clean shirt for herself, and one for Vaughn, as well as some pants. (Thank you Weiss.) She was dirty, messy. She felt grimy altogether. It had been such a long way…  
  
They'd ditched the car in the next town they'd reached, "swapping" it for a blue Toyota. A note left in the empty parking space had simply said, "Take the Mercedes. Keys are in the ignition. Sorry about the blood."  
  
The next town over, they'd stopped at the hospital. Nurses had run frantically to Vaughn, and when they'd asked what had happened, he'd said it was a "late-night hunting accident". (Hunting us.) An hour, a blood transfusion and three Styrofoam cups of disgusting coffee down Sydney's throat later, Vaughn had emerged, stitched up, looking slightly worse for wear. (But only slightly.)  
  
He'd been trying harder to look healthy in the car, though – less pale, more sure.  
  
And now, eight hours after they'd left Lawrenceville, here they were in a frighteningly pink motel room Charleston, West Virginia. Whole place empty save them, and so little energy left. Sydney sighed as she sat down on the couch, thinking.  
  
Vaughn was in the shower.  
  
(No.) She shook her head as she sank back onto the uncomfortable cushions. (Don't you dare think about this now. Save it.) She closed her eyes and breathed out heavily, listening to the water running in the bathroom. It was sporadically hitting the shower floor in a larger splash, obviously from Vaughn moving out from under the water, and Sydney berated herself for imagining him in … *situations* like this when she had more pressing things to think about. (No. Bad.) He'd only been under there about five minutes, but she was already close to going crazy just listening and visualising…  
  
She sprang up from the couch and stalked over to the boxes. Looking at the food, she realised there was little there they could actually eat unless they wanted to pig out on potato chips. She sighed again, thinking about Weiss and his yo-yos… (Why couldn't he be just slightly more practical?) She shook her head. (Yeah, well, Weiss and being practical… not likely.) She decided she'd have to get takeout. They'd passed some little place on the way in… Chinese, she remembered.  
  
(Oh, but wait. We can't go anywhere, can we?) She sighed again.  
  
She pulled out two bottles of semi-cold water, and then realised there was no fridge. Of course. She busied herself, (anything to keep my mind off Vaughn…) shoving the boxes and bags to the wall, ripping the sheets off the bed and shaking them, which only caused her to sneeze. She was trying to make the place more liveable. She opened the window a crack, letting in a bit of air through the torn mosquito screen. The air outside was cool, but it seemed almost stiflingly hot inside, and Sydney wondered if it was just her, or the heating was up high… (No, wait. They don't *have* heating. So, just me then.) Light still filtered in through the small window, but the light by the bed was turned on, giving the illusion of late afternoon or early evening. Sydney re-sheeted the bed, arranged the bags in the corner nicely, and then stood back for a second to admire her handiwork.  
  
And Vaughn was still in the shower.  
  
She closed her eyes and breathed, trying to focus on something other than what was happening in the bathroom. She knew she was overreacting – he was just in the shower.  
  
But then again… (It's Vaughn)  
  
She was ready to storm in to the bathroom and jump into the shower herself when the water stopped. Sydney started to breathe easier, and then mentally chastised herself for being so pathetic. She heard Vaughn pull aside the shower curtain, heard his wet footsteps on the cold, tiled floor. The thought of the clothes lying on the couch came to mind, and she picked them up, walking over and knocking on the bathroom door. //God, I am so transparent.//  
  
"Mmm?" Vaughn called from inside.  
  
"I have clean clothes for you. If you want them." Sydney stood outside the door, biting her lip expectantly. A few seconds later, the door opened and Vaughn stood there, towel around his waist. (In all his glory…) Her eyes were drawn to the new stitches on his right shoulder, the area around them slightly red and raised. He smiled ruefully, then reached out and took the small pile of clothes from the frozen Sydney, who simply blushed and looked away when his eyes focused on her.  
  
"Thanks." Sydney waved a hand in the air in a gesture of, 'don't worry about it', and Vaughn smiled wider. "I guess you want to borrow the shower now?"  
  
Sydney nodded. //Come on, say something…// Words failed her for a second. "Yep." //Gee, watch the smooth-talking master at work.// She was so ashamed of herself.  
  
"Okay. Give me a few more minutes." With that, Vaughn closed the door, and Sydney breathed out quietly. She felt like a teenager in a trashy romance novel… and it was not a feeling she liked. Getting worked up over Vaughn.  
  
(Remember – you're here because you're being chased. Not to have a flirty week with Vaughn.)  
  
(… Just remember that.)  
  
Sydney took a deep breath and turned around, strolling over to her backpack to search through it for her newly bought shampoo and toothpaste. Grabbing a towel from one of the brown duffel bags, she sat on the couch next to the clothes she'd chosen for herself and waited for Vaughn to appear.  
  
She stood when the door opened, and Vaughn emerged in the clothes Sydney had given him – jeans and an Oxford shirt. Sydney smiled almost shyly (God, what's wrong with me?) and moved past him to the bathroom, hit with a whiff of Vaughn's aftershave.  
  
(That's it. I am officially insane.)  
  
She almost slammed the door behind her, glad to have a barrier between Vaughn and herself. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she was startled to see just how tired she looked. There were bags under her weary eyes, her shoulders drooped, and she was horribly filthy. She frowned as she placed her things carefully near the sink, making sure she didn't put her clothes in any wet patches.  
  
She stripped and got in the shower, the hot water coursing over her body and helping to relax her tired muscles. She closed her eyes and let the water stream over her face and hair, almost smiling as the water calmed her nerves, her mind.  
  
Her thoughts drifted. She wondered about Melissa, about Seth and Gwen… she wondered if they were okay. She wondered about her father, now that she knew he was alive. And she wondered about Vaughn, and why he'd changed so much and yet so little in only two years. She wondered if he'd get out of this whole mess alive.  
  
She wondered if *she'd* get out of this whole mess alive.  
  
She lathered her hair with shampoo, enjoying its citrus smell as the foam washed down the drain. She looked at the drain, at the ten little holes with the bigger one in the middle, and wondered more.  
  
About her. About Vaughn. About the twisted bastards that had decided to play her life like a game of cards and make her live through this 'when will I die?' torture.  
  
She wondered if she'd feel better when she finally got rid of Sloane. She'd hoped and prayed he was dead, but, of course, as her luck would have it, he wasn't. No, he was safe, sound (alive, the asshole) probably with a nice comfortable apartment in Frisco. (And I get a pink motel room. Fucked up karma.)  
  
She turned off the faucet and stood in the steamy shower for a moment. She stared at her feet, pink (like the room) from the hot water, ran her finger down the fogged-over tiles, still cool to the touch. She pulled aside the curtain, stepping onto the bathmat, and wrapped herself in a towel, the same pink as the curtains, the walls, and the bedspread.  
  
She felt clean again. Cleansed. Decidedly less dirty.  
  
She dressed. Scrutinised her appearance in the slightly steamed-up mirror: wet, bedraggled and tired. (Great) She shook her head and left the bathroom, running a hand through her wet locks, her fingers getting caught in a small knot at the ends. She glanced up and saw Vaughn, lying on the couch, eyes closed, his breathing steady. (Wow, I'm in the shower for fifteen minutes and he's asleep?) Furrowing her brow as a small smile started at the corner of her mouth, she walked closer.  
  
She stood above him, her eyes moving over his face, his rising and falling chest, his hair. Every part of her ached to touch him, and her smile faded as she stared at his innocent, sleeping face, so calm in the middle of a situation that was anything but.  
  
"Are you going to stand there long?"  
  
Sydney jumped back, almost dropping her clothes, her hand flying to her chest as Vaughn spoke. He grinned and then opened his eyes, the green twinkle in them making her smile.  
  
"Sorry," she said, moving away to shove her clothes in the bag near the wall. (I am such an idiot)  
  
"That's okay."  
  
Sydney turned to see Vaughn sitting up, looking at her with beautiful, unreadable eyes. (Now or never.) She stepped closer, words forming in her throat. "Vaughn…" she paused, and he raised his eyebrows, urging her to continue.  
  
"I just… (Think, Sydney, think) I wanted to explain. In Lawrenceville- "  
  
The smile on Vaughn's face disappeared, and his expression became stony. He looked away from her for a split second before cutting her off.  
  
"It's okay." Straight to the point. He walked past her to the box of food and pulled out a bag of marshmallows.  
  
"No, Vaughn, it's really not okay," Sydney insisted, following him back to the couch. Vaughn sat heavily on the sofa before tearing the bag open and stuffing a marshmallow in his mouth. "I didn't mean to offend you."  
  
"Well, you didn't." Vaughn was pissed off. Sydney could see it. He popped another marshmallow in his mouth, chewing quickly. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.  
  
"Then why are you acting like I did?" Vaughn looked up at her, his eyes drawn together in annoyance. She had no intention of backing off. "Well?"  
  
Vaughn shook his head and smirked. "Why do you think, Sydney?" His eyes burned into hers, making her wince, but in return she simply stared at him, not knowing exactly what to say.  
  
The silence was thick; they didn't speak for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes. Finally, Sydney bit her lip.  
  
"I don't know, Vaughn." She looked at him imploringly. "Why can't you tell me?"  
  
"For fuck's sake, Sydney," Vaughn burst out, standing. "Think about it, would you? You think apologising will make it okay? Well, guess what – it won't." He looked her up and down furiously, and Sydney took a step back at the look in his eyes.  
  
"God, Sydney… I give myself to you and I get nothing in return. You left L.A. and didn't even bother to give me a call. I thought you were dead, and no-one knew anything." He looked away, taking a breath. "You disappeared after everything I did for you, and now you're here. And I'm just…" he sighed, shaking his head. "You know what? Never mind. You won't get it, no matter how simply I put it, so I'm just not going to bother."  
  
He shot her an almost disgusted look, and then flopped back down on the couch, staring at his hands. (Slowly. Take it slow.) There was a moment of silence, and Sydney took a chance and moved forward, gingerly sitting on the couch next to him. She sat silently for a moment.  
  
"I really am sorry, Vaughn." She looked at him beseechingly. "I know what you've done for me, and God, I'm so thankful for all of it." She shook her head. "I know I don't deserve it." She looked at him intently for a moment. " I didn't call you because…" she paused. "I don't know. I was scared." Another pause.  
  
"I thought about you." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he seemed to soften as he sighed, standing up and walking towards the boxes again. He tossed the marshmallows in, then turned around. Sydney took another risk, knowing what she wanted. Hoping he wanted the same thing.  
  
She stood and walked over to him slowly, her face open, questioning. He looked resigned, tired, drained, and she moved even closer, longing to touch his skin.  
  
She lowered her voice. "Vaughn," said in a tone that she hoped would explain everything. All the longing. (I need you, Vaughn.) She reached out and touched his arm, the sparks shooting through her fingertips, and he seemed to waver. She could almost swear she heard him suck in a breath at her touch.  
  
He wasn't resisting. (That's a good sign) She moved closer, running her hand up his arm as he stood still, only moving his eyes from her face to her hand and then back to her face again. She was breathless as she pressed against him, inhaling his clean smell of shampoo and soap and shirt.  
  
He stared into her eyes, and she leaned forward.  
  
Her lips brushed against his softly, fleetingly, and her eyelids fluttered as she pulled back slightly, breathing heavier. She looked at him, at his eyes, not daring to read them, and pressed herself into him. She kissed him, harder this time, her hand reaching behind his neck and pulling him closer.  
  
He didn't respond.  
  
(No. He has to.) She pressed harder, pulling him even closer, silently begging him to kiss her back, let her know he felt the same. (Please)  
  
She was almost ready to give up when he pushed her away. It had hardly been ten seconds, but she felt as though it had been longer – more. But hadn't been longer, and the look in his eyes told her that it hadn't been anything more than her humiliating herself. He turned away, running a hand through his hair, one of his nervous gestures, and spoke quietly and harshly.  
  
"Get the hell away from me."  
  
Sydney took a step back to put more space between them. There was a line, a barrier, a wall; she'd felt it, and gone through it, not caring about the consequences. Or at least thinking she knew what the consequences were, and that they didn't apply to her.  
  
That barrier between them had been broken during that one pathetic attempt at a kiss. Brought down by her selfishness. Destroyed by her lust.  
  
Vaughn had turned away and rebuilt it in seconds.  
  
*  
  
The room was cold (and still pink). Darkness lingered in every corner, and Sydney lay still on the bed as she listened to the rain on the roof. A glance at her watch told her it was one AM, and she sighed quietly.  
  
Vaughn hadn't looked at her all afternoon. Not once. She'd tried to catch his eye every chance she had, but he'd simply turned away, a disgusted look on his face. Talking to him hadn't done anything, either. She'd stared at his back into early evening, when he finally lay down on the couch and fell asleep.  
  
He was on the couch now. Asleep, his face troubled in dreams, uneasy in muddled, muted thoughts. That's what she told herself, at least: that even when he slept, he didn't have peace.  
  
She'd thought a lot that afternoon. Sitting around in the tiny room had allowed little else. Her thoughts had drifted along many lines, but mostly towards Vaughn. Where had he been? Why had the CIA sent him there? How had he lived the past eighteen months?  
  
(And how quickly did he grow a backbone?)  
  
She remembered how he used to be – quieter, calmer, always there with a small smile to cheer her up. She'd liked that he'd been there when it counted, that he could be strong when he needed to be, but she'd also treasured how he was so completely different to everyone else in her life because he didn't need to continually criticise her. He'd always been there.  
  
She'd valued how he respected her so openly, as though she was worthy of worship. How everything in her life could be crumbling, but he'd still be there because he looked up to her. Sometimes, she'd hated knowing that, but had somehow ended up loving it. (Loving him.)  
  
He was completely changed from the Vaughn she'd known, she realised now. He was stronger, tougher, indifferent. (Bitter)  
  
That was the part she didn't want to know: that after she'd left, he'd become angry and closed off. That the CIA had made him a field agent because he simply didn't give a shit about anything anymore.  
  
That she'd been the reason for all that.  
  
Only she'd changed everything now. Everything had been so simple (to a certain point) until she'd thrown herself at him. She bit her lip.  
  
Argue. Make up. A seemingly simple equation.  
  
(When will I understand that's nothing's ever simple?)  
  
She closed her eyes and thought about the situation they were in. He hadn't looked at her, hadn't said anything… how were they meant to do what they had to if he wouldn't communicate? (I'm not psychic. I don't know what he's thinking.)  
  
She didn't know if she could take a silent Vaughn. He was all she had (he's always been all I wanted), but if he wasn't going to talk to her…  
  
(… Then I'm better off on my own.)  
  
She opened her eyes. The ceiling was still pale pink, and so was the bedspread… she turned her head to look at the couch. There was no movement, and she quietly slid to a sitting position, holding her breath. She hesitated.  
  
(Is this really a good idea?)  
  
She paused for only a second more and then stood, pulling on her jeans and a shirt and moving over to the duffel bags. Glancing at Vaughn, she tried to sort the clothes in them as silently as possible – hers in one, his in the other. The faint light that shone from a streetlamp outside was hardly enough for Sydney to see, but she had no alternative, and grabbing her backpack and the keys Vaughn had left on the rocking chair, she moved towards the door. Better to just leave him than to keep going like this. (Better to just leave quickly.)  
  
(… Don't look back)  
  
  
  
She turned around.  
  
Vaughn's sleeping face was in a mixed expression – anger, pain and fear were all sketched into his clenched eyes and twisted lips. Sydney walked closer, starting openly, knowing he wasn't going to faking slumber this time. She glanced around the room as an afterthought and spotted a pad of paper on the low table next to the bed. Fumbling carefully in a pocket of her backpack, she found a pen and scribbled a note, leaving it on the rocking chair. She walked over to Vaughn one last time, wishing… she didn't even know what she wished.  
  
(Goodbye, Vaughn.)  
  
Her fingers gently touched his hair, so slightly and softly that she wasn't sure her fingertips had actually connected. She took a step back, then finally turned, gathered her bags, and walked quickly out the door.  
  
She turned around only when she reached the parking lot. Staring at the run- down motel with it's faded sign, she wrapped her arms around herself and breathed in the cold air, berating herself for being so sentimental. The rain poured down around her, slapping the pavement and asphalt forcefully, rapidly, perfectly, turning her hair into long wet clumps and soaking through her clothes.  
  
She opened the door of the Toyota, throwing the bags in and climbing in after them. With one last glance at the motel in front of her, she started the car, pulling out of the lot.  
  
She sped towards the highway, the rain on her face mixing with a single tear as she planned her new, independent route. Planned where she'd go.  
  
Thought about the note.  
  
1 Vaughn -  
  
I'm sorry. It wouldn't have worked. You know that as well as I do.  
  
Thank you for saving me again.  
  
- Sydney  
  
She drove on. And she tried to forget.  
  
(I'm sorry) 


	8. Elizabeth City

*  
  
:: L.A., 2002 ::  
  
1 "Ever heard of Elizabeth City?"  
  
Sydney turned to Will, puzzled. She laughed.  
  
"What does that have to do with the bad points of my job?"  
  
Will cocked his head to the side. "Nothing, really. But I got a letter from my aunt today."  
  
"…And?" Francie interjected, placing a glass on the bench near Sydney. Sydney grinned, taking a bite of her apple while Francie plopped onto a stool. Will shrugged.  
  
"Just one of her check-up letters." He cleared his throat. "How's your job? How's your health? Married yet?" he mimicked. "She wants me to visit."  
  
Francie and Sydney grinned, and Sydney took a sip from the glass, apple in the other hand. Francie reached out and slapped Sydney's arm for taking the drink, and she choked slightly, giving it back.  
  
"So she lives in this Elizabeth City?" Sydney asked, clearing her throat.  
  
"Yeah," Will nodded. "It's in North Carolina. Nice little place. Only ever been there once, when I was about nine."  
  
"What does your aunt do there?" Francie asked. She looked closely at her nails, and then tilted her head up to look at Will.  
  
"Nothing." Francie raised her eyebrows sceptically. "Truly. Nothing. She lives there, says it's nice, and spends her days in her garden. 'A place for Elizabeths', I think she said." He laughed and leaned over the bench.  
  
"What's her name?" Sydney asked, curious.  
  
"Clemency."  
  
Francie giggled. "What kind of a name is that?"  
  
Will laughed again. "It means mercy. Or kindness. But whether it's one or the other, or both, she has neither."  
  
Sydney smiled. "So… basically, your aunt lives in this Elizabeth City and does nothing? Just… relaxes?"  
  
Will nodded, his blue eye twinkling. "Pretty much."  
  
Francie shook her head. "That's the kind of life I want."  
  
"Me too, definitely," Sydney agreed.  
  
(Me too)  
  
::  
  
*  
  
(Elizabeth City – 10 miles)  
  
Raindrops spattered the windscreen, the wipers moving them away swiftly. It was almost nine AM, the sky was covered in dark clouds, and the rain was still pouring down. Sydney focused on the road in front of her, trying to get more comfortable in the newly-stolen-in-Richmond Ford. It was a dark green, an old, common model. Sydney had been driving continuously since Charleston, her one stop being Richmond to buy some coffee at an all-night diner and steal a new mode of transport.  
  
Now she was almost where she wanted to be. (A place for Elizabeths)  
  
Elizabeth City. The perfect place for her. She was going to go blond – curls this time – with grey contacts. Her name was going to have to come up later. Right now… she just wanted to disappear again.  
  
(In a place where I can still be Elizabeth)  
  
"Welcome to Elizabeth City." Sydney spoke the words out loud as she passed the sign, a little speck of yellow through the grey of the world around it. She yawned, the fatigue hitting her for the first time in eight hours, and tried to focus on the streets around her. (Motel, motel…) She spotted one, a small sign advertising vacancies. Heart Of The City Motel. She smirked, wondering how many motels had that same name… she pulled into its barren parking lot nonetheless, driving round to the side of the small brick structure. She grabbed her bags and slammed the door shut behind her, traipsing to the motel entrance.  
  
She stepped into the entryway, standing in the foyer for a second and glancing around. Didn't smell, didn't stink, wasn't as dirty as she thought it'd be. The floor was clean, beige-coloured carpet; there were some orange plastic chairs standing at the side next to a small table of magazines; and to the right, there was a small counter.  
  
Sydney walked over to it, breathing in the smell, which reminded her of hospital anaesthetic. Cleaning products. (Well, at least they actually clean here.) She leaned over the counter, and rang the bell that stood just next to a guest book. It pinged happily, echoing slightly in the emptiness, and after a minute, a small woman appeared, dressed in a long black skirt and flowered blouse. She smiled shyly, her demeanour immediately putting Sydney at ease.  
  
"Good morning," she began, picking up a pen. Her nametag read Susan. Her clear amber eyes were cheery but tired, and her hand shook slightly as she reached for a form.  
  
"Hi," Sydney smiled back, trying to reassure the woman, who seemed a bit frightened.  
  
"You're obviously after a room." Susan smiled at her, then looked down, her short brown bob falling into her eyes.  
  
"Yes." Sydney nodded back. Susan placed the form on the counter and looked up at Sydney.  
  
"There's just a few quick questions I need to ask you." She watched Sydney carefully, silently asking for permission.  
  
Sydney nodded again. "Sure."  
  
Susan smiled, almost triumphant. "Name, please."  
  
Sydney hesitated. (Pick something simple, but original, so no one thinks it's you.) She cleared her throat. "Virginia."  
  
Susan nodded. "Surname?"  
  
"Blair."  
  
"And what city are you from?"  
  
Sydney furrowed her brow. Susan noted her confusion. "Oh, you don't have to answer that. It's just a kind of formality in case anything happens to you –"  
  
"No, that's okay." Sydney smiled, faintly this time. "I'm from New York."  
  
Susan bobbed her head. "All right… I think that should tide us over for now." She looked up at Sydney and tilted her head to the side. "I'll just get you a room key."  
  
Sydney smiled at her, and watched as she bustled back out through the door, heard the quiet rattling of keys before Susan came back out. She walked around the counter to stand next to Sydney, and then waved her arm in the direction of the rest of the corridor.  
  
"Follow me, then." She walked off, briskly, her bob bouncing as she walked. She reached the second door on her left and stopped, turning to Sydney and indicating the door. "Room three."  
  
She put the key in the lock and turned, opening the dark wooden door. She turned back and handed the key to Sydney, then smiled before she left. "If you have any problems… just come ask me."  
  
"Thank you," Sydney smiled sincerely at her, and then watched her for a moment as she walked back down the hall, slower than before. She walked into the room, closing the door behind her and looking around.  
  
Plain room – beige carpet, blue bedspread (well, thank God it's not pink), radio, door to the right signifying the bathroom, and a small coffee table next to a small loveseat, both in front of the tiny television, which stood on a wooden crate, partly covered by a blue gingham tablecloth.  
  
Sydney smiled. It was better than the last room (at least they have a TV) - homier, quainter. She liked it.  
  
She set her bags down next to the wall and sat down on the bed. Yawning, she lay back, breathing in the slight dust that rose from the unused mattress. Glancing to her right, she noticed a payphone installed on the wall behind a bedside lamp. She raised her eyebrows, approving, and then covered her mouth with her hand.  
  
(Shit. Melissa.)  
  
She moved to the other side of the bed, sitting up and leaning over for the phone. Pulling small change from her pocket, she placed a coin in the slot and dialled Melissa's cell phone, once, twice, three times, four. She rang the code she'd told Melissa to follow (three, two, one, three, four), and then rang again.  
  
The phone picked up after one ring.  
  
"Hello?" The voice was definitely Melissa's, a little quieter and more scared than usual.  
  
"Thank God you're okay. It's Liz." Sydney breathed a sigh of relief, lying back on the bed, stretching the cord of the phone.  
  
"Liz!" Melissa breathed out, excitement evident in her voice. "How are you? Where are you? Are you okay? It's been days."  
  
"I'm fine. I'm…" she hesitated. "I'm okay. How are you? And Gwen and Seth?"  
  
"We're fine. A bit freaked out, but fine." She paused. "Liz… where are you?" Melissa's voice was curious, but not accusing. Sydney smiled sadly.  
  
"Mel, I'm sorry… I can't tell you."  
  
Melissa sighed. "That's okay. I get it. Thanks for telling us to get out, Liz… or whatever your actual name is."  
  
Sydney thought she might cry. "You're welcome."  
  
"I guess there's a hell of a lot more you didn't tell us in your letter, hey?" Melissa laughed, a forced sound, slightly pained.  
  
"Yeah." Sydney nodded, biting her lip. "Look… I can't stay on the phone. I just wanted to know that you guys were okay."  
  
"Yeah, we're good. Heading to Seth's cousin's house. He can keep us there for a while until…" she trailed off.  
  
"I'll call you when everything's okay, I swear." Sydney forced out the words, hoping she wasn't lying. "When I know you'll all be safe."  
  
Melissa sighed. "Okay. I guess I better let you go."  
  
"Yeah." Sydney frowned. "Bye Mel."  
  
"Bye Liz. Thanks." Dial tone.  
  
Sydney hung up the phone slowly, closing her eyes, and then fell back onto the dusty pillows and relaxed. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to imagine a day – a simple day, full of sunshine and colours and people who didn't scare her. A day when everything was peaceful, calm… perfect.  
  
(I'm never going to have that.) A tear spilled from her eye. (I'm never going to get simple.)  
  
She wiped her cheek, the thought propelling her into a fit of self-pity.  
  
(I'm never going to have perfect.)  
  
*  
  
"This can never really endIt's infinitely sad  
  
Can someone tell me when  
  
Something good became so bad?  
  
So if you have a cure  
  
To me would you please send  
  
A picture of my life, with a letter telling how  
  
It should really be instead…"  
  
*  
  
The radio in the room played random dance, trance and funk as night fell. Sydney was sitting on the bed, box of Thai takeout on her knees. Susan had been kind enough to point her in the direction of the closest restaurant, and Sydney had pulled on a hooded jacket and baggy jeans and headed out into the rain. She'd walked slowly through the downpour, staring at her feet, clad in running shoes, and wondered if she'd catch a cold.  
  
When she'd returned to the motel, she'd pulled out her hair dye and contacts. It had taken her forever to dye her hair and curl it so it looked natural, and the grey contacts were starting to annoy her. The blue ones she'd taken out had been thrown in the trashcan under the bathroom sink, little pieces of another life change, and now she was sitting there, eating Thai and listening to Jamiroquai.  
  
The world was weird to her in so many ways. The way things worked – and she wasn't even thinking about her twisted life. She wasn't thinking about the huge coincidence it was that her mother had killed Vaughn's father; she wasn't thinking about the coincidence it was that she was her mother's daughter, and that Vaughn was his father's son – that everything had been so completely screwed up. She wasn't thinking about the coincidences that happened to her every day. Nothing like that. Just the way things were in the altogether.  
  
The colours around her, the way people worked, how things happened, electricity, light… she never took time out to think about any of it. But now that she had all this time to think… nothing wanted to enter her mind that she needed worrying about. Random thoughts pushed past the important ones, battling for space in her crowded mind, fighting all-out for the front position.  
  
But none of the thoughts seemed determined n staying. Her mind jumped from one topic to another, until she finally couldn't think anymore. She grabbed her backpack, pulling out a book, settling back against the aired-out pillows. She flipped through the dog-eared pages to the bookmark (I put in the day before my birthday) and started to read. She settled back as she got absorbed in the words, drifting away.  
  
About a minute and three paragraphs later, the book went flying across the room. It hit the wall next to the window, falling to the floor.  
  
Sydney sat up, arms hugging her knees close to her chest. She closed her eyes, swaying, listening to the rain still pouring down outside, to the faint sounds in the room next door, to the radio. She couldn't think straight, even though she tried, so she finally decided to give up and moved across the room to her bags.  
  
She pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from the backpack, grabbing a pair of socks to warm her feet. Sydney crawled under the covers after changing, her sock-clad feet sliding against the sheets comfortably. She tugged the covers to her chin and rolled onto her side, her eyes drifting shut as she thought randomly about the dreams she was sure to have (even thought I don't want them). Her mind cleared in the darkness of the room, and she fell asleep to the sounds of the radio.  
  
And dreamt of Elizabeths and Charleston.  
  
(And Vaughn.)  
  
*  
  
"There's a place of my own I go that I have found  
  
When I'm left bare and cold, when there's nothing at all  
  
I lift through the clouds, I go on a wave of sound  
  
I go on my own when the feeling calls…  
  
I'm floating above the ground so get used to it  
  
Cause I'm not coming down  
  
It's sunny above the clouds  
  
You can't touch me here…"  
  
*  
  
The motel was silent except for the beats coming from the radio in Sydney's room. (Empty) The people next door – a couple from Alabama (how did they end up here, of all places?) – had left that morning, the man booming a fair amount of "y'alls" to Susan on the way out. Sydney had sat in her room, hearing everything, smiling at the simplicity of the scene.  
  
Now, it was two in the afternoon.  
  
And Sydney was lonely.  
  
She glanced out the window, which faced the barren, boring parking lot. The sky was still grey, rain falling sporadically, the weather ironically matching Sydney's mood.  
  
(It could have at least been sunny. Added some originality.)  
  
She wanted to eat. Leave the room, which was slightly becoming colder. Go somewhere.  
  
She sat silently for a minute more, staring into space, then stood, pulled on shoes, a sweatshirt, a jacket, and wire-rimmed glasses, and left the room.  
  
She reached the counter and pressed the bell. Susan came bustling out.  
  
"Hello," she smiled, reaching for a form. "Can I help you?"  
  
Sydney was taken aback. (I can't look *that* different.)  
  
"It's me," she said, tilting her head. "Virginia. Room three."  
  
Susan squinted, and then her face cleared. "Oh!" she exclaimed, embarrassed. "Sorry… I was thrown off by the, uh, hair…" she trailed off.  
  
Sydney smiled encouragingly. "That's okay."  
  
Susan seemed to regain some kind of confidence. "So what can I do for you?" she asked. Her face changed, reflecting worry. "Is something wrong with your room? Is it the television? Because the television can be – "  
  
"– No," Sydney interrupted, shaking her head. "The room's fine." Susan looked slightly puzzled.  
  
"Then what's wrong?" she queried.  
  
"Nothing at all." Sydney smiled faintly. "I wanted to ask you to come out with me… maybe help me find a place to eat lunch."  
  
Susan's confused expression became one of pure, glowing happiness, and a grin broke over her features, immediately making her look younger.  
  
"Okay," she said happily, backing away excitedly. "I'll just get my daughter to keep an eye out… and get my jacket… just a minute!"  
  
Sydney smiled and stepped toward the exit, waiting only a moment before Susan came out again. Her face was lit up, and she walked straight to the door.  
  
"Come on," she held the door open, and Sydney stepped out into the grey world, where it had started to rain again.  
  
They started to walk quickly down the street, Sydney pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head as Susan led the way. Sydney noticed how much she changed almost immediately after stepping out the motel door: her posture became straighter, and as they half-walked, half-jogged through the shallow puddles on the sidewalk, she breathed in, closing her eyes, looking positively blissful.  
  
A few minutes later, Susan led Sydney across the street. They stepped into a small restaurant (diner. Typical.), sitting down in one of the brown- vinyl-and-blue-Formica booths. Sydney leaned back, inhaling the smell of coffee and hamburgers, feeling decidedly more comfortable. Susan looked over at her shyly, but not as shyly as before, and Sydney smiled.  
  
"So, Susan," she began, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the tabletop, "tell me about yourself."  
  
Susan blushed, and then paused slightly, thinking. Her face hardened. "Well, I'm forty years old… and for the past ten, I've worked in that motel. It's horrible, and I hate it there." She looked away, looking almost angry. Sydney was surprised. She hadn't expected a sob story – she'd expected a short anecdote about Susan's community college education, her wonderful husband and three children. (Or possibly the 'two sisters, a brother and a Chihuahua named Lucy' story. Not this 'I hate my life' story.)  
  
(God, doesn't that just sound familiar?)  
  
"Why?" Sydney asked. Susan sighed.  
  
A waitress chose that moment to walk over, order pad and pen in hand.  
  
"What can I get you today?"  
  
Sydney thought quickly. "Uh… I'll have a coffee, some fries, and a large salad, thanks."  
  
The girl nodded and jotted down the abbreviated version of the order, her auburn ponytail swinging as she turned to Susan. "And for you?"  
  
"A coffee, cheeseburger, fries, and salad, please." Susan smiled at the waitress. "How's your father, Jackie?"  
  
Jackie half-smiled. "Better," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "He's just being kept in for observation now. He should be out by the weekend."  
  
"Oh," Susan nodded. "Send him my love, okay?"  
  
"I will," Jackie smiled, a wise smile for her age, which Sydney figured to be no more than sixteen. Jackie stepped backwards. "I'll be back with your order in fifteen minutes."  
  
Sydney smiled at her as she retreated. She turned to Susan. "Who's that?"  
  
"That's Jackie." Susan looked after her, her eyes shining with a kind of parental love. "Her father and I were neighbours when we were kids."  
  
"What's wrong with him?"  
  
"You mean why is he in hospital?" Susan asked. Sydney nodded. "He has cancer. They've put him through a lot of tests and he's just gone into remission."  
  
"Oh, wow," Sydney said, raising her eyebrows. Then something occurred to her. "Why isn't Jackie in school?"  
  
Susan looked away sadly. "She dropped out. Her mother's dead, and she has three jobs on the side, just so she can try and pay her father's medical bills, and so she can buy food for herself and her younger sister."  
  
Sydney's mouth almost dropped open. (God, that girl's strong.) She looked over to Jackie, moving around behind the counter. Her actions seemed to be mechanical and there was a faraway look to her eyes. Sydney guessed her thoughts were far away from a diner in Elizabeth City. She moved around, wiping down the counter, stacking mugs, and Sydney watched her, thinking.  
  
"Who are you running from?"  
  
Sydney's head spun back to Susan. "What?"  
  
"Who are you running from?" Susan repeated. Sydney looked at her, incredulous, her eyebrows furrowed. (How the hell did she know?)  
  
Susan smiled back encouragingly. "Darl, I know how to read everyone. And a girl as pretty as you doesn't sign into a motel like mine for a vacation."  
  
Sydney let out a small, wry chuckle, shaking her head. "I'm that obvious?"  
  
Susan's grin widened. "No. You're not. I'm just perceptive." Her smile held for a minute more, and then her face became questioning. "So… are you going to tell me why you're here?" Her eyebrows raised at the question.  
  
Sydney paused. Thoughts raced quickly through her mind. (What have I got to lose? I have nothing left; I might as well just be obvious. I'm a rusty spy, I can't do things right anymore… and everything's gone.) She wanted so much, only there was nothing there to have. Everything had disappeared – the cocoon of a life she'd pulled tight around her had broken open, spilling her into the bright reality she'd tried to hide from so much. She was a butterfly in a harsh world without flowers. She had nothing left that she could believe in.  
  
(And I can't be around Vaughn because he's the opposite of what I want to believe is true.)  
  
Jackie walked over, tray in hand. She set down the coffees and the plates, then smiled at Susan and left. There was a moment of silence.  
  
Sydney looked out the window. The rain was falling more lightly now, the blue and yellow lights of the video store across the road contrasting against Elizabeth City's grey world. Drops of rain dripped off the side of the diner, falling to the sidewalk, making ripples in puddles.  
  
"I'm just… I'm just running." The words came out quietly, sadly, with Sydney's eyes still focused outside the window.  
  
Turning back, Sydney noted Susan's sympathetic smile and felt compelled to continue, "I'm running… because I'm scared." (Scared of everything. Of Vaughn. Of myself. I'm just a coward, really.)  
  
Susan understood. "Is there… a man involved?" Sydney paused, then nodded. "Is he…" Susan hesitated, considering her words. "Does he… hurt you?"  
  
"God no," Sydney shook her head determinedly. "Never."  
  
"Then why are you so intent on escaping him?" Susan asked quietly. "Is there something else?"  
  
Sydney looked at her, at her wise eyes, her intelligent face, and didn't know what to say.  
  
"It's… it's complicated, I guess." She bit her lip, unsure, thinking about Susan's question. (What exactly am I meant to say?) "We had an… argument. It wasn't all that big, but I left."  
  
"Did you tell him where you were going?" Susan asked.  
  
Sydney shook her head. "No." She looked out the window again. "I don't want him to find me."  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Susan was half-smiling. She sipped her coffee, chewed on a French fry. Sydney picked at her salad before she answered.  
  
"Yes. I'm sure." She bit into a piece of tomato, then gulped at her (amazingly not too bad) coffee, telling herself she was sure. (I am. I have to be, because if I'm not… he'll catch up to me. And I'll lose it.)  
  
Susan nodded. "If you say so." She smiled, her face caring, understanding, reassuring. Sydney felt safer, almost better after spilling a few small details. They ate in silence for a few more minutes, and then Susan glanced at her watch, her eyebrows raised.  
  
"Oh, shoot," she exclaimed, grabbing her purse. "I have to get back!" She was immediately flustered, confused, and Sydney felt a pang of sadness towards her. She reached out and covered Susan's (trembling) hand with her own.  
  
"I'll pay." She smiled. "Go."  
  
Susan hesitated, bills in hands. "Are you sure?" Sydney nodded. "Can you find your way back?" Another nod, another smile. "Well… if you're sure…" Susan trailed off.  
  
"I'm sure. Go," Sydney insisted, waving her hands in a 'shoo away' gesture. Susan considered a moment, then nodded and started to leave.  
  
Sydney called out. "Susan…" She turned. "Thanks, by the way. I feel better."  
  
Susan smiled. "Glad to help. Bye, Virginia." And with a small wave, she left.  
  
Sydney sat in the booth for another half hour, finishing her food, watching the raindrops break the calm surface of the puddle, thinking. Jackie cleared away the plates and mugs, still smiling politely, her eyes tired. Sydney felt a rush of sympathy for her as she watched her yawn on her way to the counter.  
  
Sydney finally stood, leaving the money for the meal as well as a large tip, and left the diner, walking into the strengthening rain, pulling her jacket tight around her.  
  
She walked slowly down the street, letting the raindrops rebounding off the pavement spatter her jeans. She let the water soak through her sweatshirt hood, let herself feel vulnerable. She stared at her feet as she walked, at her shoes, at the shallow puddles on the cold ground, and briefly wondered whether it was sunny where her father was, where Melissa was (where Vaughn is, where Francie –)… she sighed as she watched a couple of teenagers race across the street, ducking their heads from the rain as they ran to shelter.  
  
It took her ten minutes at her slow pace to reach the motel. She walked to the entrance, noticing another car in the parking lot (burgundy Mazda, Connecticut plates, probably passing through on their way to Florida), relishing the cold water spraying on her from above.  
  
She silently entered the motel with its clean smell, her shoes soaking patches of the beige carpet. The hallway was silent, and she pushed the hood back from her face, looking up.  
  
A man stood by the counter, his back to her, the shoulders of his long leather jacket splattered with raindrops, his light hair slightly damp. When Sydney froze, he turned around as if feeling her presence, Susan's voice fading into the background as she asked 'Virginia' if she knew 'this man'. They stood stock still for a moment, Sydney's dismay painfully obvious, and Vaughn stared at her, his beautiful face tinged with anger and weariness (and something else), and Sydney couldn't take it.  
  
She turned and ran.  
  
* 


	9. Charlotte

*  
  
It was the rain that welcomed her first. It splashed cold and hard against her cheeks as she raced out of the motel, as she turned the corner and began to sprint down the street. The wind blew her wet hair back, and she pulled her hood back over her head only to have it whip back again.  
  
She heard his footsteps beating on the pavement behind her and as she got further and further away from the motel they only seemed to get closer. She focused on her breathing (in, out, in, out) as she passed a Laundromat, a games arcade, the diner on the other side of the street. She ran across the road, not bothering to check for cars, hearing Vaughn's voice behind her, calling her name.  
  
"Sydney!"  
  
Shaking her head as tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, she ran down a small alleyway, past three dumpsters and a montage of peeling band posters The alley came out into a back road, and she turned left onto the slightly muddy track.  
  
Vaughn was getting closer. Sydney could hear his footsteps distinctively, hear his voice clearly, hear his breathing as he picked up his pace.  
  
"Just stop!"  
  
But she couldn't. Her legs wouldn't stop running, wouldn't stop trying to not fall over on the slippery path. (I've been going for so long now – I can't stop. I never will.)  
  
(I'll always run. It's in my blood)  
  
Sydney saw a flash of green on her right and instinctively turned towards it, finding herself in a small playground behind an elementary school. She raced across the open area, some kind of playing field, and made her way to the swings, the seesaw, the monkey bars.  
  
"Syd, please…"  
  
His voice made her want to cry. She'd run so far…  
  
"Don't you get it? I don't want to stop!" Her own yell almost surprised her, slicing through the noise of the pouring rain, the pounding footfalls. Her legs were tired; she slowed. Reaching the sand around the playground, she slowed even more as her feet sank into the dampness. (God, Sydney, idiot much?)  
  
She jumped back out onto the grass, her breathing coming harder, her face stinging from the wind and rain. She passed the side of the painted school building, the mockingly bright colours of the wall sticking out in comparison to the grey around them. The whole school complex was like a haven of colour, of brightness, of purity… The trees were bright, the grass was wet, and she finally slipped, falling hard on her knees.  
  
Vaughn stopped next to her, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. Pulling oxygen into her own lungs, she was unsurprised to find that they were breathing in unison. But there had always been an element of the dependent about them, hadn't there? Something reliant, that maybe once she thought was weak, and now was may be all she had left. The rain still falling around them, Sydney let herself break down.  
  
"Why are you doing this to me?" She looked up towards him, rain falling into her eyes, voice rising. "I've gotten over worse than this! I've been stronger… and now you just…" she shook her head and turned away, the angry tears threatening to spill.  
  
She didn't know how long she sat there before Vaughn pulled her up, leading her the few metres to a bench by the school's wall. He took a step back when she was seated, his eyes staring out into the trees surrounding the park-like area of the school grounds. Sydney felt herself shaking with anger and looked up at him, his face grim, the wrinkles in his forehead prominent.  
  
He seemed to notice her slight movement. "You shouldn't have done that."  
  
Sydney looked away, out at the seesaw. Up and down, down and up. Like her life. (So simple… so complicated) "What?"  
  
"Run." Vaughn didn't look at her, instead turning even further away, addressing his words to the empty playground, to the simplicity of childhood dreams and invincibility. "You should have stayed."  
  
"You weren't talking to me. Why should I have –"  
  
"Why was I meant to talk to you?" His voice was harsh, and Sydney watched his fists clench before he shoved them in the pockets of his leather duster. "You jumped me, Sydney. You came out of nowhere and kissed me as though… I don't even know." His voice stumbled over the last sentence, as though he was trying to skim over the 'kiss'. He was bitter. Vaughn turned to her, his eyes imploring, tired, resigned. "How did you expect me to react?"  
  
She glanced up at him, and then away again, back to staring at the seesaw, the slide. He shook his head and looked ready to move away again before Sydney spoke.  
  
"How do you think I expected you to react, Vaughn?" She glanced at him as he dropped his head. She continued, watching his jaw clench, "What's the usual reaction?"  
  
He smirked as he turned to her once again. "God, Sydney. I'm not stupid. I just don't… I just don't understand."  
  
"What, they didn't give detailed instructions in the agent and handler section of the CIA handbook?" She glared at him, her (grey) eyes boring into him as he flinched, his face changing from questioning to angry.  
  
"After everything, you'd think you would be more grateful." He shook his head in disbelief, gaining momentum with each word, pulling his hands from his pockets. "Instead, you're being the bitch and bringing up everything that you left behind. *You*, Sydney." His eyes were cold, hard. "No-one but you."  
  
Her head dropped as he sighed in frustration and then continued. "I just don't know how you think you have the right to be so pissed off about everything." Vaughn was angrier than she'd realised. (God, I wish he was the same as he used to be. Smile, wrinkle, reassure. Why did he have to change so much?) "You're always like this. You think I'm just going to smile and make you feel better. The thing is, I'm not." She could feel his eyes burning into her, and she tried not to cringe.  
  
"I'm sick of all this shit, Sydney. All of it." He glared at her for a second more before he turned away again, running his hands through his wet hair.  
  
Sydney found her voice. "I'm pissed off because – yet again – I'm running. Going through this bullshit of an existence. I've been doing it forever, Vaughn. All I want now is to disappear, to have a life, to live – but you're leading me nowhere." She stared at the back of his head, at his tensed shoulders. Her next words were quieter,  
  
"I just want something in my life to be real."  
  
Vaughn's head jerked towards her at the familiar words of long ago promises, questions, threats. He shook his head in wonder, one side of his mouth curving up slightly.  
  
"You're never going to get it, are you?"  
  
He stared at her for a minute longer, then stepped closer to her and leaned down, his face inches from hers. She almost winced, but refused to back down at the fire in his eyes.  
  
"This is what you have to do – what I have to do. I don't mean to sound like an inconsiderate bastard, but right now, it's true. You don't come with me, you can die right here, in this city. In this playground." He waved one arm in the direction of the slide, turning away for a split second. "You come with me, we can get you somewhere. True, we have to run a little longer, but we'll get to the right place. And when we get there, you can leave. Go wherever you want. You can go to Germany if you're desperate." He looked down for a second. "But until we get there, you're just going to have to trust me."  
  
Sydney looked into his eyes, at the drained and exhausted greens and hazels, and hesitated. She looked down, and he sighed and moved away.  
  
"Fine." He stood there for a second longer, the rain hitting his jacket, his hair, his face, and then turned and walked away.  
  
She thought. The playground mocked her; it's simple lines and curves reminding her of how much she loved the swings when she was young. How she was sure that if she pushed just a little bit harder, she'd go flying up over the bar, into the sky. She'd soar.  
  
Reaching puberty hadn't helped. (Then I just thought that everything would be easy.) And it had, to a certain point: the point at which she'd realised things weren't going to be served to her on a silver platter for the rest of her life.  
  
Then she'd started becoming someone else.  
  
The wigs, the clothes, the masks, the disguises. It had made her feel different, confident – like she could do anything if she was someone else. She could hide easier if no one knew who she was, and all Sydney really wanted was to disappear, to live her own life, to not have to worry about being pursued.  
  
And she realised now why she'd run from Vaughn. She's been so scared – so unsure – of him, of her, of the both of them. Something had convinced her that she was better on her own. (Maybe the fact that I've always been alone.) She was used to it. She couldn't be easily surprised with herself, by her own thoughts.  
  
But Vaughn… Vaughn was different. He never ceased to surprise her, to change her views on things (on things like life). And that uncertainty was what drew her to him and pushed her away from him at the same time.  
  
Running had always seemed natural. The faster and the further you run, the more (time, space, thought) you give yourself. Running from Vaughn had seemed like the only thing she could do. (If I run fast enough, I can get anywhere. Even away from him.) But it hadn't worked. She'd run, to somewhere he wasn't meant to find her (a place for Elizabeths. Not Vaughns), and yet he had. He'd come after her, even though she'd treated him like crap, and when the realisation of how pathetic she'd been hit her, her head jerked up.  
  
"How did you find me here?"  
  
Vaughn stopped. She watched him as he turned around, biting his lip as he thought of the answer to the question. He looked up at her, his head slightly tilted, the green of his eyes heightened by the foliage surrounding them.  
  
"I guessed." He shrugged, and Sydney furrowed her eyebrows.  
  
"You guessed? How do you guess something like that?"  
  
Vaughn glanced away again, looking at everything and nothing. "I picked up the map and just… knew." His eyes turned on her, and he shrugged again, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Seemed logical."  
  
Sydney nodded. Vaughn turned away, walking through the rain to the far side of the playing field, his steps determined but tired. Sydney considered for all of a minute before standing and practically sprinting to his side. He barely acknowledged her presence, and she almost grinned at the man he'd become. (Did he try to become this aloof? Or did it just come naturally?) She tightened her soaked jacket closer to her body, thankful it wasn't pneumonia season.  
  
"I'm sorry." She looked at him after she uttered the words quietly, and he nodded, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"You should be."  
  
*  
  
The conversation was… nonexistent. (So what else is new?) Vaughn was at the wheel of the car, the radio on but turned down so low you'd be forgiven for thinking its slow mumble emanated elsewhere, and Sydney was trying to sleep.  
  
It was definitely not happening.  
  
They were en route to Charlotte – where Vaughn was meant to contact Weiss – in the Mazda, a cramped car where Sydney had no legroom.  
  
(Whatever. Go to sleep.)  
  
She sighed, her eyes still closed. They'd passed through Raleigh and Greensboro, stopping in both, and were now close to where they were meant to be. They'd picked up food, clothes… Susan had simply smiled knowingly when 'Virginia' had returned to the motel to pick up her bags. She'd raised an eyebrow when she'd spotted Vaughn standing awkwardly at the door, and then smiled shyly at Sydney before leaning towards her and whispering,  
  
"I like him."  
  
Sydney had almost burst out laughing at the comment, but had allowed herself a small grin instead. The look on Susan's face – motherly, almost – had been priceless. Sydney and Vaughn had left the motel quickly, Susan trying to hide her sadness at their departure. Sydney hoped the small surprise she'd left in her now-unoccupied room cheered her up.  
  
The car slowed, and Sydney opened one eye lazily, glancing out the window. Buildings. (Which means we're…somewhere.) She closed her eye again, pretending to sleep (I still can't talk to him… but I want to talk to him) as Vaughn turned and the car bumped over the gutter. They drove slowly for a minute more, and then Vaughn parked the car, turned off the ignition.  
  
Sydney waited for him to move, to wake her up, to open the car door and then slam it when he got out. But there was nothing. She could hear him breathing quietly in the stillness as the engine settled, and could almost feel him watching her closely, chest rising and falling (in, out, in, out) under the guise of slumber.  
  
There was nothing for another moment, and then, the lightest of touches on her cheek, brushing against the skin. She stayed still, feeling her heartbeat quicken when his fingers didn't move, continuing to caress her cheek, her hair. His touch (so small) was so much. Every part of her focused on the slight contact, on the warmth, on the spark; on the realisation that she wanted more. (So, so much more.)  
  
And then it was gone. His fingers left her face quickly (no, come back, I want you), almost as if he'd jerked away, and she heard the car door open and close, lightly so as not to startle her.  
  
And then there was silence.  
  
(Why is this happening? Why can't I just… it's Vaughn. It's Vaughn.)  
  
Sydney let out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding (did he notice?) and opened her eyes, quickly looking around for Vaughn. She saw him retreating, cell phone to ear, heading across the street to the left of the parking lot they were in. He disappeared from her line of sight, and Sydney took in the surroundings. (Grey buildings. Streets. Parking lot. Kiosk.) She spotted the booth across the street on her right, about fifty yards down the road, and her brow knitted in determination. (That's what I need. Gum, a magazine… a distraction.)  
  
(Oh God, how I need something to keep my mind off everything.)  
  
She grabbed her backpack from the floor and opened the car door, stepping into the wall of cold air. The clouds above Charlotte were pale, ready to either sprinkle with rain or scatter and show the sun. Sydney had changed in Raleigh, stepping into a dingy diner restroom, into a pair of black pants and a burgundy turtleneck, throwing a heavy (stolen) woollen coat on top. She was warm as she crossed the street, walking along the pavement and around to the counter, where she stood behind a tall man buying cigarettes, wearing gritty jeans and a flannelette shirt. Stereotypical. (He smells of bars and prostitutes.)  
  
She shook her head slightly, trying to think less morosely. The short man behind the counter was counting out change as she glanced at his oxford shirt and the small sticker that bore the scribbled name Brian, and then she tuned her thoughts back into the tall man in front of her. (Pick something else. He smells like cigarettes. That's a good start. He also smells like –)  
  
The man turned, cigarettes in hand, and his foul breath hit Sydney in the face. He scowled as he crashed into her, his eyes flashing.  
  
"Get the fuck out of my way, girlie."  
  
Sydney raised her eyebrows, her body tensing in anticipation (I'll kick your ass), her fists clenching as her feet moved into a fighter's stance.  
  
And then she realised what she was doing, Looked into the man's face, at his snarl, and told herself that she couldn't take him down, no matter how much she wanted to.  
  
She stood aside, eyes dropping to the gum-stained pavement, a "sorry" escaping her lips, barely above a whisper. The man snorted and lumbered off, leaving Sydney feeling worthless. (Bar. And prostitutes, dammit.) Sydney moved up to the counter, and the short man smiled at her apologetically.  
  
"I'm sorry. He's always like that." He shrugged. "The man's a regular. I don't like to admit it, but it's Jack that keeps me in business selling cigarettes."  
  
Sydney's chest constricted at the name. (Jack. Daddy.) She stepped back as she felt herself losing balance, her foot hitting the pavement, making her knee lock and reminding her to use her leg muscles. The man leaned forward worriedly. "Are you okay, miss?"  
  
Sydney nodded, then smiled faintly to prove her point. (I'm so fake.) She stepped up closer, glancing towards the back of the small boxed-in kiosk at the magazine racks.  
  
"What would you like?" 'Brian' asked.  
  
"Uh… sorry, I'm just deciding." Sydney tried to smile wider, and was thankful when the man's cell phone rang. He flushed and then, picking it up, glanced worriedly at Sydney. "I'm sorry. I'll just be a moment." He turned away slightly, and then started to talk through the cell. Sydney was surprised when the language wasn't English (Dutch. He didn't have an accent…) and she hid a grin when she realised she understood snippets of what he was saying. He was arguing with his mother.  
  
Rain started to drizzle slightly, and Sydney sighed, trying to decide between Cleo and Cosmopolitan. Brian continued talking, and from random snatches Sydney figured out he was telling his mother he had a customer. She hid a grin.  
  
A few minutes later, Sydney had decided, and Brian was apologising profusely. Sydney shook her head.  
  
"That's okay," she smiled. "No harm done." (At least it's true for once.)  
  
The man breathed a sigh of relief, then spoke again. "So, have you decided what you'd like?"  
  
Sydney nodded as she told him her choice – "the Cosmopolitan, please" – and smiled again as he took down the magazine and the chewing gum, and Sydney paid him with a quiet "thankyou".  
  
She started across the street, and glanced up towards the car when she reached the parking lot, surprised by what she saw. There was now a black Audi parked a space away from the Mazda, but that wasn't all Sydney noticed.  
  
She noticed Vaughn, sitting on the hood of the Mazda, his head in his hands as he ran his fingers (God, those fingers) through his hair. He looked lost and unsure, and she became slightly nervous as she strode faster. She stepped closer as the drizzling rain fell on her shoulders, calling quietly.  
  
"Vaughn?"  
  
His head jerked up, and his expression changed from loss to relief when he saw it was her. He stood, smiling slightly as he approached, and she was sure she heard him say "Thank God" quietly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.  
  
"Thank God for what?" Sydney asked.  
  
Vaughn didn't meet her eyes. "I was worried…" he trailed off as he gestured towards the car, towards her, and Sydney realised what he'd been worried about.  
  
"You thought I'd left again."  
  
Vaughn bit his lip, and Sydney watched the movement, not stirring as Vaughn bit his lip. (He's not denying it. And why should he? I've been such a bitch…)  
  
"Yeah." Vaughn replied. He shrugged as his features hardened. "I did, actually."  
  
Sydney shook her head. (He has the right. I ran away from him… twice… he has the right to be suspicious.) She closed her eyes, then opened them again and looked Vaughn in the eye.  
  
"It's okay," she said, shrugging, and then, more quietly, "I deserve it."  
  
He looked guilty for a long moment, staring off into space, and she could feel him closing himself off from her again. There was a minute of silence (is golden), and then he spoke.  
  
"I put the boxes in the Audi."  
  
Sydney glanced over at the black sedan. The windows were tinted (darkest legal tint), and the car was clean.  
  
"You stole that car in less than five minutes?" Sydney looked at Vaughn pointedly. "Wow. Now I feel like I'm losing my touch." (I have lost my touch.)  
  
"Actually, no," Vaughn confessed, biting his lip again. (Do that again, and I'll have to bite it myself) "Weiss had a team leave it around the corner, earlier today. Key was under the wheel, and I just threw the boxes in."  
  
Sydney almost smirked, then asked, "Why don't they just take us out of here instead of making us run?"  
  
"They want us in a safe house." Vaughn replied. "That's all."  
  
"Yeah, because the last one was really safe," Sydney spat out sarcastically. She almost cringed when he winced, looking away from her. (Oh. Right. Lawrenceville. Idiot.) She sighed. "So where are we going?"  
  
"Miami."  
  
"Miami?" Sydney looked at Vaughn. "They couldn't have one earlier? In Atlanta? Greenville? Chattanooga, for fuck's sake?" She was wildly calculating how far it was to Miami. "Miami's hundreds of miles away! It's at least two days… plus we have to rest, and…" she broke off, frustrated, waving her arms through the air in pointless gestures to match her irritation.  
  
"Sydney, this isn't the time to–" he broke off, listening to something in the distance and then glancing up at the sky. "Shit." He jumped off the hood and walked to the driver's side of the car quickly, glaring at Sydney as he did so. "Get in. Quick."  
  
"What?" Sydney asked, complying when he didn't respond immediately, but determined to get an answer, "What's happening?"  
  
"They're here."  
  
Sydney slammed the door shut as her heart stopped. "No, they're not." (They can't be. I would have heard them… right?) She shook her head as Vaughn started the car, pulled out. "What about the Audi?"  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
"But all our stuff–" Sydney stopped, spotting the Lincolns at the other side of the parking lot. "Okay. Never mind. Let's go."  
  
Vaughn swung the Mazda out into the street, speeding past the early-morning joggers, shop owners, people walking their dogs. The Lincolns pulled out into the street behind them, and Sydney started to get scared.  
  
"How'd you know they were coming?" she asked. She quickly thought back to Lawrenceville. "I thought you said you had bad hearing."  
  
"I heard tire squeals," Vaughn shrugged. "Didn't you?"  
  
Sydney shook her head, annoyed at the lack of detail in his answer. (Shit, Vaughn, just give me something to work with.) The car was cooler than it had been earlier and as Vaughn turned left, heading out of the city, Sydney wrapped her arms around herself, wondering whether he could get them out of this.  
  
"All our stuff's in the Audi." She said again, pestering him over the loss of all their supplies as he turned another corner because she couldn't think of anything else to say. She watched his face as he rolled his eyes and glanced in the rear view mirror.  
  
"I know that, Syd."  
  
"We needed that stuff," she continued, aggravated by his lack of reaction.  
  
"I know that too." (Sarcasm. Fantastic.)  
  
"Then why the fuck didn't we take the Audi?"  
  
Vaughn's eyebrows rose slightly as he turned to her at her outburst. "Because we don't want them following the Audi. We want them following us now, and we can get the Audi later." He was so calm, so diplomatic. (And I'm hysterical. Perfect.)  
  
"How?" Sydney asked, agitated and pissed off. "We're trying to get out of here, Vaughn. How are we meant to–" Vaughn interrupted her, swearing, as another SUV pulled out into the street right in front of them, heading straight into their headlights.  
  
"I hate this." Sydney looked over at Vaughn as he said the words, at the determined look in his face as he swerved around the Lincoln and then back onto the road.  
  
"No arguments there." She glanced behind them, at the armada of black chrome and metal, and shook her head in disbelief. "Vaughn, there's like six of them. You really think you can get out of this?"  
  
Vaughn gritted his jaw before replying. "Undo your seatbelt."  
  
Sydney paused. "What?"  
  
"Undo your–"  
  
"I heard you," she interrupted, "I just don't… why?"  
  
"You're getting out."  
  
Sydney raised her eyebrows in scepticism. "Excuse me?"  
  
"You're ge–"  
  
"Stop repeating everything!" Sydney exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. (Breathe, Sydney, breathe.)  
  
"Sorry." Vaughn apologised. "But you're getting out. Think you can find your way back to the Audi?"  
  
"Why?" Sydney asked, drawing out the word as the car turned again.  
  
"Because you're going to get it and meet me somewhere."  
  
"What kind of somewhere?" (This is not good.)  
  
"Atlanta."  
  
"Atlanta?"  
  
"Would you just listen?" Vaughn glanced in the rear view again, his eyes tired. Sydney stopped arguing.  
  
"Okay. That's what, four hours away?" she asked. Vaughn nodded. "Good. I'll meet you at the first motel on the right side of the road at ten-thirty this morning. That sound decent?" Vaughn nodded again. "Great. Drop me off somewhere along here, then."  
  
Vaughn was silent as he sped up and around a few corners to get out of sight of the Lincolns before he pulled over to the side of the road. Sydney sighed as the car halted, and she put her hand on the door handle. "Till ten-thirty." She opened the door, ready to get out, when Vaughn grabbed her hand.  
  
She turned back, staring into his eyes, and then his hand was at the back of her neck as he pulled her close and covered her lips with his.  
  
She froze for a split second before kissing him back, his mouth strong and forceful against hers, his hand weaving into her hair for a single moment. She barely had time to register before he pulled away, his heavier breathing matching hers as she fluttered open her eyes.  
  
"Go," he said softly, looking out through the windshield. She paused, her heart pounding, her legs out the door. "Vaughn–"  
  
"Go," he repeated, his eyes turning to her sharply, the jade commanding. She nodded, sliding out of the car and into the morning. She ran around the side of the car into the trees at the side of the road, looking back once.  
  
Just in time to see his eyes before he sped off. (Oh, God)  
  
She turned back into the trees, closing her eyes for a moment as she ran through branches, her feet quiet over the rust-coloured pine needles on the ground. She couldn't focus, her feet melting into the ground melding into the trees and one thing becoming everything else.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
* 


	10. Atlanta

*  
  
Atlanta. Georgia. The streets were full of cars getting to work late, of people racing along, of loud noise and distractions. Sydney drove through the melee lost in thought -- no -- lost in remembrance.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
She hadn't been able to concentrate on anything else. She'd run through the trees at the edge of the road, and finally made her way back to the parking lot after hitching a ride with a middle-aged woman who had simply shaken her head and said, "it's not worth it, honey". She'd climbed into the Audi, thrown her bag on the backseat and had driven to Atlanta on autopilot.  
  
And now she was here, looking out for the first motel on her right, hoping she found one soon, remembering Vaughn's lips on hers and the indescribable sensation that had hit her. It had been one moment, a few seconds; and she'd been reduced to jelly knees and teen crush status. (Come on. Give me a motel already.)  
  
(Aha!) A few hundred yards, a small building, a faded sign. (Looks like my kind of place.) She pulled up on the street next to the building and climbed out, looking around for the Mazda. After a few quick turns, Sydney realised it wasn't there, and she glanced at her scratched watch. Ten forty- five. (Shit.)  
  
She walked into the quiet building with its pink (not again) linoleum floor and cream walls. There was a bench, a few chairs, and a reception counter, and Sydney approached it silently, glancing around for anything out of the ordinary. Apart from the pink, everything seemed normal.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
Sydney almost jumped at the voice from behind the counter. A young girl stood up from the floor, papers in hand, and looked expectantly at Sydney, her eyebrows raised.  
  
"Uh… yes," Sydney stammered. "A room please."  
  
"For one?" the girl asked.  
  
"For two. I'm expecting someone, and…"  
  
"Male?"  
  
(What's with the questions?) "Uh… yes, but it's – it's not what you think…"  
  
"Slightly older than you, maybe? Light brown hair? Green eyes?" The girl started sorting the papers, pulling out some manila folders and putting away the files.  
  
"Yes…" Sydney furrowed her brow and looked at the girl, slightly puzzled. "How did you know?"  
  
"Quite simple, really." The girl looked up and smiled for the first time. "I was told you'd be on your way. He's already here."  
  
"Oh," Sydney nodded. (So, I'm guessing no Mazda.)  
  
"He's in room five." The girl pointed to her left. "Down there. You can't miss it."  
  
Sydney smiled faintly, her eyes just about ready to close. "Thanks." She started down the hall, her feet making slight squeaking noises on the pink linoleum. She approached room five, glancing at the number on the door before knocking. A pause.  
  
"Yes?" came the voice from inside.  
  
"It's me." Sydney stood silently for a moment before Vaughn finally called, "come in".  
  
Sydney opened the door gently and strolled into the room, closing it behind her and dropping her bag to the floor. A fleeting glance around the small area revealed nothing special: twin beds, small round table with chairs, mirror, door to a small bathroom, the whole place nicer than the other motels she'd been in (and that's a lot of motels), but it still seemed almost wrong, even slightly immoral. The colour scheme was (thank God) not pink, but instead off-white and pale orange. The whole room reminded Sydney of peaches and cream, and she smiled slightly as she stood by the table, rocking back and forth on her heels. The water was running in the bathroom, and she called out.  
  
"Vaughn?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm in here," returned the voice. Sydney bit her lip, then walked to the bathroom, stopping and leaning against the doorframe. Vaughn stood over the sink, plastic gloves on his hands as he massaged hair colour through his once-light strands, the bluey-black of the dye covering his head.  
  
"Wonderful." Sydney spoke, and Vaughn glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "Get any for me?"  
  
"You can go a purple and black colour or a dark auburn." He spoke staring into the basin, his tone noncommittal and yet speaking volumes. (All thirty- something volumes of Encyclopaedia Britannica) Sydney walked over the small bench a metre away from Vaughn and picked up the temporary dye packaging. She read the colour aloud. "Midnight blueberry?"  
  
Vaughn smiled sheepishly as his fingers made small circles on his scalp. "Yeah, well. I didn't feel like going red."  
  
Sydney nodded, understanding. "Well, I think I will." She leaned against the bench, her eyes on Vaughn as he combed through the dye and then rinsed his hands. He turned to her, his eyes deep.  
  
"How was your drive?"  
  
Sydney looked at the floor. "Uneventful." She glanced back up. "You?"  
  
"Well, the beginning was a bit too eventful for my liking," he shrugged, "but it got better. Stole a Chevy in Mauldin."  
  
Sydney stopped herself from gaping. "A Chevy?" Vaughn nodded almost proudly.  
  
"Yep. Sky blue."  
  
Sydney shook her head. "Wow." She watched Vaughn as he grinned, and she smiled back. Then she glanced at his lips, and the bathroom suddenly seemed warmer.  
  
"Uh…" she looked away, remembering those lips against hers. (Well, the boy can kiss) She immediately chastised herself for the thought, and started to move towards the door.  
  
"I'll just let you… yeah." She nodded and gestured towards his hair, trying to avoid his gaze.  
  
"Syd…" he began.  
  
"I'll be in the bedroom," Sydney cut him off, and almost reeled at how the words sounded. "I mean… I'll be in the other room…" she shook her head. "Never mind." She left the bathroom quickly, noticing the slight curl of Vaughn's lips as she marvelled at her stupidity. ("I'll be in the bedroom") She smirked at herself, still partly mortified. (Cos that didn't sound sleazy.) She sighed as she sat down on one of the beds, running her hands through her hair. (I really need some sleep)  
  
Vaughn emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, and Sydney realised she hadn't moved. She looked away as his eyes fell on her, not wanting to say anything that might, potentially, start something. (Something? Like what? Like him kissing me? Oh, God, how I wish that would just happen again.) She finally raised her head when he didn't move for a moment, and stared into his eyes, surprised to find that they were blue.  
  
"Contacts, too?" she asked, a small, wry, God-this-is-a-horrible-situation- but-I-love-you-anyway half-smile on her face.  
  
"Yeah," he answered, shrugging. "This or green… but that was a bit pointless, so…" he trailed off again, and she swallowed as he watched her. She bit her lip, trying to control her breathing. She finally glanced up at him, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.  
  
"Vaughn…" the words caught in her throat as Vaughn looked at her intently, his forehead devoid of wrinkles (for once), his face almost completely blank.  
  
"Yeah?" he replied, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. (This is not good. None of this is good. God, I wish he was someone I didn't–) She cut off her trail of thought and spoke, voice quiet, clear, almost scared as she fixed her eyes on his.  
  
"I'm sorry for running away in Charleston." The words were, and yet weren't, the ones she'd wanted to say. 'I'm sorry for leaving you in L.A.' 'I'm sorry you didn't kiss me back.' 'I'm sorry I'm me, and you're you, and we're here in this fucked-up situation where we can't be what I want us to be because it could kill us.' (Now that's a different take on life, isn't it? I can't be with Vaughn now. I couldn't be with Vaughn in L.A. This is all so screwed up.)  
  
She watched him as he processed what she'd said, lowering his gaze to the floor as his head dropped. He shook his head, then looked away as he replied. "That's…" he glanced at her fleetingly, his now-blue eyes skittering over her features. "Forget it."  
  
(He doesn't forgive me) She nodded, understanding all he didn't say, understanding the reasons behind everything left unsaid. She wanted his forgiveness, needed it. And still, Vaughn – this new, stronger Vaughn – was something she didn't want to give up.  
  
(So I won't.)  
  
Sydney stood and walked towards the bathroom, stepping around Vaughn. "Just let me dye my hair… I'll be right back." (Those are always the famous last words in horror movies, aren't they? 'I'll be right back', and a hacked-up body in a pool by a mansion. Just like my life.) The bathroom tile was cool under her feet when she removed her shoes and closed the door, pulling off her coat and turtleneck to dye her hair. The gel was slimy, sticky, and she relished it's feeling on her scalp, on her plastic-glove-covered fingers. (Becoming someone new again) A redhead. Not a blonde, not a brunette, not a raven-haired woman of thirty. She realised that she'd run out of so-called 'natural' colours to dye her hair. (Next up, green. How easily I'll blend with green hair) She rinsed her hands, rinsed her hair, dried it… she left the bathroom feeling new, her green contacts replacing the grey ones of Elizabeth City, the auburn replacing the platinum of Virginia Blair.  
  
The clock on the wall near the table showed eleven forty-five. Sydney was surprised to see how much time had passed. (So little time left…) She glanced over towards the beds, her eyes coming to rest on Vaughn's curled- up form on one of the peach comforters, one of his arms hanging off the side of the bed. She smiled, then walked silently to the other twin bed and lay down.  
  
She stared at Vaughn for ten minutes before drifting comfortably into sleep.  
  
*  
  
The light was fading when Sydney woke, stretching her arms to the side lazily before she realised where she was. The peach around her was like a cocoon, the strange colour reminding her of skin and fruit and ice cream, and she sat up and glanced over at the bed on the other side of the room, Vaughn nowhere in sight. A fleeting look at the clock told her it was four in the afternoon, and it was slightly cooler than it had been in the late morning.  
  
She stood, walked over to her backpack. (I wonder what the next stop is?) She quickly figured where Vaughn was (that would be the running water in the bathroom) and dug through the backpack for her toothbrush, then sat at the table and waited.  
  
She felt… (domestic) She smirked at the word, noting how ironic it was. She also felt… (what? Warm, comfortable. Anticipation.) The burning feeling of Vaughn's lips against hers still hadn't disappeared, and she knew it wasn't going to anytime soon. That one brief, fleeting kiss had been enough to bring back everything she'd tried to forget (and wanted to remember), bringing her old life crashing into her new one. The water was still running in the bathroom, she was still staring at the clock, and yet everything was just starting to seem simple.  
  
There was only him, and her, and a road trip.  
  
(No black, no death, no Lincolns, no Sloane.)  
  
This was the way it should have always been, and she realised that. (Only thing is… what happens now?)  
  
The water stopped, and she straightened in the chair, her neck slightly sore. (Miami… I've never been before.) She thought randomly as she waited for Vaughn to leave the bathroom. Glancing down at herself, she realised she was still fairly clean. (Or at least decent. It'll have to do.)  
  
Sydney thought back, remembering her post-senior year road trip. She'd driven cross-country with her friend Lisa, a bubbly freckled blonde who had eventually left California to do an art course at NYU. (I miss her.) They'd visited places they'd only ever heard of before: Vegas, Phoenix, Kansas City, Nashville, Memphis, Washington. Sydney had felt free, driving down the highways of the rest of her life with nothing to hold her back.  
  
And here she was, doing exactly the same thing (exactly the opposite) again.  
  
The bathroom door opened, and Vaughn strode out. He smiled at Sydney (or did he?) and made his way over to the duffel he'd left by the bed. Sydney watched him for a moment before standing and strolling into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind her as she brushed her teeth.  
  
The light sifting through the small window in the bathroom was fading, orange and pink beams slicing through the cool air and hitting the walls, signifying a break in the clouds. Sydney paused at the sink after washing her hands, staring at her newly auburn hair and green contact lenses. (Vaughn's are nicer) Sighing quietly, she left the bathroom, walking silently to her backpack and putting away the toothbrush, making the bed.  
  
Vaughn sat at the table, a large sheet of paper in front of him. When Sydney glanced at it closer and walked over to sit opposite him, she realised it was a map, and she leaned over the table to look at the lines drawn on between cities.  
  
"What's our next stop?" she asked, pulling Vaughn from his silence.  
  
"Pensacola." He replied quietly, head in his hands, the raven blue of his short hair slightly wet.  
  
"Wings of gold." She snickered at her own bad joke, and when he looked at her with confusion, she shook her head. "Sorry. Bad television joke." He nodded, and she felt her hope drop.  
  
(What did I do now?)  
  
He wasn't looking at her (not again), focusing solely on the map. She decided to push the subject.  
  
"And where are we going after Pensacola?"  
  
His eyes flicked to hers, their clear, pale blue reminding her of Will (no, no, no. Don't even dare… he is not Will. Will's dead.), and sighed. He turned the map around so it was on an angle where she could see it from the side, pointed to Atlanta, and spoke.  
  
"Okay. We're here. It's a six-hour drive to Pensacola, give or take a quarter hour, so we should be there at about ten thirty if we leave within fifteen minutes." He glanced at her quickly. "Got that?" Sydney nodded, taking in the information. Vaughn continued, his forehead wrinkling.  
  
"We'll stay there overnight. Then, tomorrow, about noon, we'll drive to Orlando, which is about seven to eight hours away." His finger traced the highway on the map, and Sydney's eyes followed the movement. "We'll stay there overnight too, hopefully. And early in the morning, we'll leave for Miami, where they'll extract you." He turned the map back around and traced the red lines on the paper with his marker, their path set. His next words were quieter.  
  
"And after Miami, I won't see you again."  
  
Sydney froze, her eyes on the table. She looked up at Vaughn slowly, his strong blue gaze holding hers as she ceased breathing for a second, and she spoke, the words almost hoarse.  
  
"And I suppose you consider that a good thing?" She looked away as he sighed and sat back, shoving the map into his back jeans pocket. He stared at her for a moment, and she wondered if he was actually going to answer. He paused, biting his lip, and then leaned across the table, his face inches from hers.  
  
"I would've thought you already knew the answer to that question."  
  
Sydney stared at his heated eyes, glanced down at his close lips. There was nothing, and then he moved. (Come back…)  
  
She sat, immobile, watching him as he walked across the room and grabbed his leather jacket from the duffel bag, pulling it on as he shoved his feet into the sneakers by the wall. He glanced over his shoulder, the look on his face undecipherable.  
  
"Come on. We have to get to Pensacola tonight."  
  
Sydney nodded dumbly and stood, walking to retrieve her coat and backpack silently. She was much too confused for this situation; everything had been simple. (But that was gone ages ago) She'd been running (forever) for something like four days, and nothing was getting any clearer. Sloane was still alive and wanted to kill her; her father was still alive and wanted nothing to do with her. Jay was still dead, all because she couldn't hide her tracks well enough, and Will and Francie were in graves in L.A., bodies full of holes and mistrust. (All because of me and my stupidity)  
  
And here she was, in perhaps one of the worst situations she could imagine, with the only person she could count on. Ever.  
  
She followed him (blindly) out the door, down the corridor, past the young receptionist with her brown ponytail and confused glance, to the pale, sky blue Chevy illuminated by the sinking sun and pale streetlights.  
  
They drove out of Atlanta, passing Turner Field and Olympic Centennial Park, the darkening streets inviting, familiar. Sydney stared at the fading sunlight and pink-bottomed clouds, wishing she knew what was happening in Vaughn's mind.  
  
(Not going to work)  
  
She sighed, folded her arms, and tried to sit comfortably, her neck still sore.  
  
(You are now leaving Atlanta) She blinked as they passed the sign.  
  
(Hello highway.)  
  
* 


	11. Pensacola

*  
  
:: Los Angeles, 1992 ::  
  
Lisa grinned. "I've decided."  
  
Sydney mirrored the smile, biting into a chocolate bar. "Decided what?"  
  
"On which college I'm going to." Lisa beamed, her grey eyes amazingly bright, and she practically glowed.  
  
"Really?' Sydney raised her eyebrows, and was caught off-guard as someone crashed into her from behind. She reached out a hand to support her against the wall of lockers and yelled down the hall. "Watch where you're going, would you?"  
  
Lisa continued to grin as the bulky sophomore gave Sydney the finger and rushed down the school corridor. Sydney rolled her eyes, looking back at Lisa, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. So, where are you going?"  
  
"NYU." Lisa bounced on her feet, excitement coming off her in waves. "I'm going to study art and paint masterpieces and get my own apartment." she trailed off, waving her hands through the air. "They accepted me!"  
  
Sydney smiled, happiness not quite meeting her eyes. "So, you're not going to UCLA with me, then?"  
  
Lisa's face dropped. "Oh, Syd, I'm sorry," she apologised, her eyes sad. "But this is something I really want to do."  
  
Sydney nodded. (I get that) Lisa smiled faintly, then nudged Sydney with her shoulder as they pushed past a group of freshmen standing in the middle of the hall. "So is your dad back this weekend?"  
  
Sydney sighed, shaking her head. "No. As usual, I have the house to myself." Lisa looked at her with pity, and Sydney shrugged. "I think he's in London."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Who knows? He never tells me why he's going." Sydney smiled faintly, then let out a chuckle. "It's okay. I don't really care." Lisa nodded, satisfied with the answer. (Thank God Francie's not here. She'd never believe me)  
  
Sydney stopped listening as Lisa started talking about her college plans. Thoughts of her father (maybe I should just call him Jack; it's not like he acts like a father) passed through her mind; the silent dinners at home, the forced small talk, the last phone call she got from him. (All gruffness. "I'm off to London for the week. Don't give the housekeeper too much trouble. Good luck on your exams.") There had been nothing to show that he cared, that he actually wanted to know anything about Sydney at all.  
  
(Not like that's anything new. He's never acted interested.) Lisa talked on excitedly, oblivious to the blank look in Sydney's eyes as she wondered about the man who had brought her into this world. This typical, indifferent, unexciting world. (I just wish he'd notice once.) The bell rang, startling her into rushing towards homeroom. She waved goodbye to Lisa, made quick plans to meet her and Francie for lunch, and started to walk quickly down the cinderblock-walled corridor, her vinyl backpack bouncing against her back lightly with every step.  
  
(I just wish he'd notice)  
  
*  
  
:: Pensacola, Florida ::  
  
The room was quiet, the muted sounds of the late news from the radio giving an atmosphere to the dim light. Sydney sat on the double bed, feet crossed in the lotus position, staring into space, remembering, reminiscing. Thinking. About how her father never noticed her (never cared); how Vaughn saw her, but wasn't allowed to (protocol should be nothing when it comes to people like us); how people took interest in her even when she didn't want them to. (Sloane)  
  
The lamp next to the bed was on, as was the fluorescent light rod in the bathroom. The shadows it created were simple, strong shapes that Sydney found herself tracing with her eyes, too tired to do anything but sit.  
  
(Maybe I should go to sleep) Then at least she wouldn't have to go through the awkwardness of deciding whether she or Vaughn would get the bed. (We could just share.) Everything seemed pointless, and she couldn't focus on anything. The drive had been quiet, uncomfortable, the tension in the car rising with every mile they drove. Their rest stops - in La Grange and Montgomery - had been quick: a gas stop, a food stop, a bathroom break.  
  
And there had been almost no conversation for six hours.  
  
It was getting frustrating. Vaughn sighed from the bathroom, and Sydney looked up, glancing at his back, the only part of him she could see. He was brushing his teeth; she'd already brushed hers. The motel room was simple and plain (aren't they all?), but it was comfortable. The bed was covered with a floral motif comforter, the couch was covered with red roses on a navy background, and the carpet was pale.  
  
She was miserable.  
  
(Why?) The question was too complicated to answer, and she gave up on it immediately. Vaughn came slowly out of the bathroom, glancing at Sydney, and she suddenly felt inadequate in her sweats and oversized tee shirt. She stared at Vaughn for a moment while he turned to flick off the light in the bathroom. The shadows disappeared, leaving only the light from the bedside lamp, and Vaughn moved slowly across the room to sit next to Sydney on the bed.  
  
Silence. (Say something) Sydney glanced at his profile - at his now-blue eyes and 'midnight blueberry' hair. The colours suited him. (But doesn't everything?) She felt the warmth radiating from his body, longed to touch the tanned skin of his hand.  
  
Quiet words. "You take the bed tonight."  
  
Sydney bit her lip. "It's your turn. I'll take the couch."  
  
Vaughn looked at his hands, then stared forward into nothing. "Fine with me." He half-smiled, and her hope faded further. (There's nothing here. Nothing at all. There never is. God, he can't see me, Dad can't see me. why bother?) Sydney nodded, and then paused before speaking.  
  
"Orlando next, huh?" She waited until Vaughn nodded, and then continued. "I've never been." She looked across the room, thinking, before she said, "I've heard it's nice."  
  
"Yeah," he replied quietly, his forearms resting on his knees. He glanced at her, and she met his (what is he thinking?) gaze.  
  
"I'm going to miss you, Syd."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes for a moment, her chest tightening in pain. (I don't want to leave you again) "I'll miss you too." She opened her eyes, and he looked away. She sighed. "I guess we should get to sleep, then." She uncrossed her legs, setting her feet on the floor and drumming her fingers lightly on her thighs as she waited for him to move. He didn't.  
  
She paused, decided to wait, stared at him as he stared at his hands. A minute passed before he sat up straighter, turning in her direction slightly and speaking. "Good night."  
  
She forced a small smile. "Night."  
  
He half-smiled back, turned away ready to stand up, and Sydney started to pull back the floral comforter. (Sleep)  
  
And then Vaughn's hands were on her face, gentle and urgent, turning her towards him. She caught a glimpse of his eyes before they closed, his lips softly pressing against hers, his hands moving to her hair and her waist to pull her closer.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
She closed her eyes as she responded, her fingers moving to touch his cheek, a small contented murmur escaping her lips as the kiss grew more insistent, his fingers passing over her skin, burning a trail on her arms, her neck, through the thin cotton of her shirt. His hands paused to play with the elastic of her sweats, and Sydney pulled back for a moment.  
  
She caught her breath as she stared into his heavy-lidded eyes, dimly aware of his fingers moving underneath her shirt to the small of her back. She tried to concentrate.  
  
"Vaughn -" she tried, his lips inches away, her voice little more than a whisper. "I don't - I don't think that."  
  
She trailed off as Vaughn placed a finger to her lips. His voice was soft, low, making her almost shiver despite the heat radiating from his proximity. (Oh, God, why can't I concentrate?)  
  
"Syd." She held her breath as he ran his fingers lightly from her neck to under her chin. "Remember L.A.?" His eyes were inquisitive, beautiful, blue, and she nodded. He faltered for a moment. Then the murmur. "Nothing's changed about how I feel for you."  
  
Sydney watched him for a moment, then nodded, mirroring Vaughn's small smile as he leaned forward and caught her lips with his. Her heart fluttered as the kiss grew. It became grasping, tangled, feverish. She pulled him closer, needing more.  
  
(It's taken so long)  
  
Vaughn pushed her back against the pillows, and Sydney ceased to think at all.  
  
*  
  
Blue lights from streetlamps. Light rain falling on the roof. (Again) Sydney watched the brightness of headlights pass over the walls, twisting into the corners and disappearing with a whoosh as cars drove past the motel outside, the early hours of the morning peaceful, silent. (The calm before the storm)  
  
She closed her eyes again and curled closer to Vaughn, his eyes shut, his breathing steady and even. She listened as she felt his chest rise and fall, (rise and fall) the skin warm to the touch, electric almost. (I love you)  
  
He was beautiful. She'd lain beside him for hours, basking in his nearness, tracing the scars (old and new) she hadn't noticed before, marvelling at the fact that no matter how much he had changed, how different everything was, some things were still the same.  
  
(He was amazing. In more ways than one.)  
  
He'd fallen asleep, his arms around her, his body so close that she could feel all of him. Hear his heart beat. Listen to his quiet sighs as he slept, to the random words he mumbled in his dreams. She smiled at his tufts of black hair, his piercing blue eyes, his strong hands. His agility.  
  
Then she'd be hit with reality.  
  
(I'm not perfect. He's not perfect. This could still get us killed.)  
  
And the simple realisations: that she'd never stopped thinking about him. Never. Every time she'd looked at Seth, something had been missing. Something simple. She hadn't been able to figure it out, to determine what it was, had told herself she was being picky. Now, though, she realised.  
  
(Love)  
  
She wasn't going to give it up.  
  
(Everything's fucked up enough as it is. I won't let this screw up just like everything else.)  
  
Sydney's eyes opened again, and she stared at the ceiling, thinking. Next stop, Orlando. And after that, Miami. (And then I'll be gone.) She moved closer to Vaughn (I'll never leave you again), wondering where she'd go.  
  
"Can't sleep?"  
  
She jolted when Vaughn spoke. Quietly, but it was enough to disturb the silence of the morning. Her grinned at her jumpiness, wrapping his arms around her waist tighter and pressing her closer to him.  
  
"Can't sleep." She smiled in answer, once again amazed at how lucky she was to be here, with him. (One moment of perfection) His eyes looked into hers, and she stared back, her heart beating faster as he leaned forward and kissed her gently.  
  
(Maybe he hasn't changed as much as I thought)  
  
"What's on your mind?" Vaughn asked softly, his fingers running lightly over her stomach. Sydney tried not to shiver as she spoke.  
  
"Nothing, really." He was silent, allowing her to continue, but she sensed the doubt. "I'm thinking about where I'll go." He was still quiet, his fingers making circles on her abdomen, not focusing on her words. "Vaughn?" (Why can't I call him Michael?)  
  
"Can't you just forget about that? Even for now?" His tone was low and soft, but the strength of the words wasn't lost on her. She tensed.  
  
"No, I can't. It's not that easy." She sighed as his hands stopped moving. "You know where you're going. You still have a job. A mission. I don't." She laced her fingers through his, stroking the skin on the back of his hand. "I don't know what's going to happen. That's why I can't forget it."  
  
Vaughn didn't speak, leaning over to brush his lips against Sydney's shoulder. His hair brushed past her nose, making her smile, and she watched him as he pulled back, his face slightly apprehensive.  
  
"We'll figure it out when we get to Miami." A whisper, calm, controlled. Sydney wasn't so sure.  
  
"Don't you get it, Vaughn?" (He can't be 'Michael'. He's never been Michael.) She shook her head, and he pulled away, (he's Vaughn) sitting at the edge of the bed. She sat up, pulling the sheets closer (why is it colder?). "We won't 'figure it out'. There won't be time." She watched his back as he ran a hand through his hair, quickly scratching the back of his neck.  
  
"Are we still talking about where you'll go? Or have we moved on to us?" Vaughn turned back to her, his eyes demanding.  
  
Sydney looked away. "I don't know."  
  
"What is this, Syd?" He looked at her, eyes imploring, questioning, steely, his walls slowly rebuilding themselves. "Just a fuck?"  
  
She almost recoiled at his words. "Is that what it was for you?"  
  
"God, Sydney, you know the answer to that." She was silent. "Please. Don't bullshit me. You know what I feel." He paused for a moment, his voice quieter when he spoke next, but still determined. "I don't know what's happening. I don't know where you'll go. All I know is that we have to get to Miami so you can get extracted, that Sloane is still alive - unfortunately - and intent on killing you, and you are not just a fuck." Vaughn practically glared at her as she sat, not speaking for a minute. He turned back around, resting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. She virtually whispered her words.  
  
"I'm sorry." He didn't turn. "God, Vaughn, I just- I'm so scared. I'm sorry." (That's not all) Why couldn't she say more? (Why can't I tell him that I'm sick of it? The perpetual motel rooms, the dancing around topics, the road trip from hell?) He sighed, and she felt herself break as she realised that everything had changed. Everything. There was no going back, even if they wanted to, and they still weren't safe. (I love him. At least I think I do. I might be too fucked up to recognise it. But I can't love him, so I don't, and why can't everything be simple like it is on TV?  
  
She stopped herself from sinking in her quicksand of thoughts, and looked over at Vaughn. He was sitting quietly, hardly moving. A minute passed, maybe more; and Sydney reached across the bed and touched his hip, her fingers moving softly over the skin before stopping.  
  
He tensed slightly, then turned back to her, his eyes weary. Her heart thumped loudly (Oh God, I did this to him. Why have I done this to him?), and she bit her lip before speaking.  
  
"Forgive me, Vaughn. Please." Her eyes begged him, and he softened slightly. It was the slightly that made her take her hand away again.  
  
"What for, Sydney?" He asked, tired. Almost steeling himself from her response.  
  
"Everything." He cocked his head, inviting her to explain. "For not telling you when I left L.A. For not kissing you in Lawrenceville. For. forcing myself on you in Charleston, for leaving you there with nothing but a note, for running away from you when you found me in Elizabeth City, for everything that's ever happened since you met me." She breathed in, feeling as if she was about to cry. Her eyes blurred slightly, the tears threatening, and she berated herself for doing this again. To herself, to him. (I hate myself)  
  
He sighed, his mouth moving into a small, wry smile. "Syd. don't worry about it." He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing away a tear. "Forget any of it ever happened. Just think about now."  
  
She nodded, another tear spilling over, and Vaughn crawled back under the covers. His voice soothed her, his arm stretched across the pillows, her head on his shoulder.  
  
"For a spy, you're nothing but a baby."  
  
She laughed through her tears, snorting, and he laughed at her as she covered her mouth with her hand, mortified. (I love him. I do.)  
  
When she calmed down, they spoke. The whispers moved through the air of the streetlamp-lit room, tangling within themselves as they talked about her, about him, about their parents, the past two years. Her life in Portland, his trips to Baku and Lvov, the simple things she did on her weekends, the missions he was continually sent on, her new love (ice-skating), his old one (hockey). They talked about everything (except what's happening right now. With us. Around us. Everything but the important things, because nothing is perfect.).  
  
(But I love him. I do.)  
  
The streetlights blinked off, the stars disappeared, the sun rose. The room slowly became orange with the morning light, covering the floral motifs with brightness, harshness. The light brought with it reality, truth, morning: another day of endless highways and broken hopes, sticky car seats and, yet, cold rain.  
  
They didn't move until ten, one hour before they were to sign out of the motel. They packed quietly, shared a shower (this is going to end soon), changed into new clothes. The room stayed floral, unchanged as they left the motel, stepping into the warm mid-morning air, the sun a surprise for their dark clothes and heavy pants.  
  
A mustard-coloured Mustang parked around the corner from the motel was their new car. The lock picking was easier every day, Sydney noticed. (Practice makes perfect) They climbed into the car, the mood determined, heated, everything it had been and more. (A little less conversation, a little more action.) Sydney smiled to herself as they drove from the city, passing what she could only describe as a huge marlin, the buildings on either side of the road bright in the strong sunshine. She shed her coat after about fifteen minutes, Vaughn soon following suit as she held the wheel.  
  
Along the way she realised that everything was still simple, but not simple enough. They were still running. Still being chased. Orlando was seven hours away, give or take a few breaks in between. (Bonifay. Tallahassee.) Orlando, their last stop before she disappeared, before he left, before she became someone else again. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, memories of childhood readings of 'Anne of Green Gables' coming to mind as they passed the border of Pensacola and started to cruise down the highway, the silence in the car comfortable for the first time since. (since this started)  
  
Sydney settled back into the seat, trying to relax. Vaughn looked over at her, his gaze intense, and she smiled faintly at him, hoping he knew how she felt. His hand rested on her knee as he drove, the soft sounds of fifties songs filtering through the warm air, and she felt lighter for the first time in a week.  
  
(It seems so much longer)  
  
The road stretched before them, the mustard of the car zooming along steadily.  
  
(And only one stop left before reality)  
  
Her hand clasped Vaughn's as they drove on.  
  
* 


	12. Orlando: one more day

*  
  
:: Orlando, Florida ::  
  
Seven PM. Another uninteresting colour scheme, another motel room, another night. A couch, pale green and covered with muted stencils of seashells, accompanied by nothing more than a double bed, a coffee table, a television, and three chairs lined up against the wall next to the bathroom. Everything was green, cream, forest, the colours soothing Sydney as she pulled Vaughn closer, his lips brushing with hers, their bodies close, almost silent in the emerald room. Emerald that matched his eyes. (His old eyes, because they're blue now. But my eyes are green.)  
  
The humour hit her through her clouded haze.  
  
(We're being pursued, and here we are, making out on a couch like teenagers)  
  
(. No way am I stopping.)  
  
His mouth trailed down her neck slowly, and she once again thanked whichever power allowed him to be there, with her. (Thankyou. Thankyouthankyouthankyou) Her voice was quiet when she spoke, the sunset faded outside the small window.  
  
"What time do we have to leave in the morning?"  
  
Vaughn pulled back for a second, half-smiling at her, his hair tousled. (I love him. I do.) "To get to Miami. to get there by late afternoon, we should leave about eleven or so." He moved closer to her again, then stopped at the look on her face. "What?"  
  
"Do we have to go?"  
  
"Excuse me?" He looked surprised, his eyebrows rising in question. "You're asking me 'do we have to go?' Of course we do." He shook his head, puzzled, then sighed. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"I just thought. maybe we could stay." Her voice was quiet as she watched his expression turn to bewilderment, almost confusion.  
  
"What do you mean, 'stay'?" he asked slowly, dragging out the 'stay'.  
  
She sat up straighter, her arm still around his torso. "I've never been to Orlando before. It's not as warm as you said it would be, and besides." she paused, seeing his face grow more bemused than bewildered. ".I always wanted to go to Disney World."  
  
Vaughn grinned (God he's gorgeous), shaking his head at her request.  
  
"You want to stay so we can be tourists?" he asked, amusement radiating from him in waves. "Are you serious?"  
  
"Yes, I'm serious," she replied, miffed. "I happen to think this would be a nice place to visit. Please, Vaughn."  
  
He shook his head. "Syd, we can't. You have to get extracted -"  
  
"- But you have to call them first, right?" she asked, pushing the subject as he sat up slightly, ready to argue.  
  
"Well, yeah, but-"  
  
"But nothing." She leaned into him, touched his cheek. "Please, Vaughn."  
  
"Sydney," he sighed, still trying to put up a fight. "We can't stay here more than one night. It's - technically - twelve hours. That's enough for them to find us. Plus, they're close. Really close. You know that." He moved his head on instinct to give Sydney better access as she started to kiss his neck, and she smiled against his skin as he continued. "We can't stay here longer. We have to leave in the morning."  
  
"No." She pulled back, still smiling, faint as it may have been. "This is our last chance, Vaughn. Our last stop before. whatever happens." She looked at him imploringly, grasping his hand as she spoke. "We won't get another try, Vaughn. This is it." She leaned forward as he sighed, caught his lips with hers for a long moment. "We have to stay one more day. Just one more."  
  
Vaughn closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. She smiled, her eyes moving across the small scar on his left cheek to the larger one on his forehead. (He's been through so much. we've been through so much.) She couldn't just rely on 'someday' anymore. She couldn't hope for happy endings. She had to take her opportunities with both hands.  
  
No more waiting.  
  
(I have to live. We have to live)  
  
She sat silently, waiting for him to speak.  
  
"Okay. We'll stay one more day."  
  
Sydney grinned as she pulled him towards her again, her arms around his neck. "Thankyou." He mumbled something, and she grinned wider. "It's just one day."  
  
*  
  
"It's your day, believe it  
  
It's your date with destiny  
  
It's too late to leave it  
  
After all, it's your, it's your party  
  
Call it luck, call it fate,  
  
Call me beautiful to my face  
  
Call it off to my surprise  
  
It's just how you made it."  
  
*  
  
The day was closing; the sun was headed to the other side of the world. Sydney walked quietly beside Vaughn as they turned a corner, brushing past the small palm trees near the gate and heading towards their room. They'd changed motels at Vaughn's insistence early that morning, moving to a quiet bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Orlando, the Mustang left behind in favour of a black Jeep.  
  
Sydney smiled as she glanced up at the sky, the orange light melting into green and midnight blue, stars twinkling down happily. She strolled slowly, relishing the feeling of Vaughn's hand in hers, breathing in the warm air. Silence save the sound of their quiet footsteps.  
  
Vaughn was staring off into the distance, his jaw set, and Sydney sighed as she glanced at him. He'd been so careful all day, looking around, checking everything twice, glancing in the rear view every five seconds to make sure they weren't being tailed. He hadn't let himself forget.  
  
"What now?" Sydney asked him, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, he was looking at her intently; his eyes were bright with the blue contacts but darkened by his obvious unease. He shook his head slightly.  
  
"You're not worried?" he asked her.  
  
"Worried about what?" she replied. She glanced at her feet, kicking a small rock on the concrete as they arrived at the door to their room. Her boots were too heavy for the weather, but she didn't care. They were loud, and she liked the sound they made.  
  
(Less silence when I wear these.)  
  
Vaughn stared at her a moment before focusing on his own feet, sneaker- clad. "Aren't you worried that they're close?" he asked quietly, his face troubled. "Not even slightly worried that they might be in Orlando?"  
  
Sydney shook her head, smiling thinly. "We can outrun them, Vaughn. We have so far. And if they're here, so what? We got away in Lawrenceville, and in Charlotte." she paused for a moment, squeezed his hand. "But they're not here. They're not. So I don't see the point of worrying."  
  
He smiled at her, his face still troubled, his eyes still trying to understand. He shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head in bewilderment. "I'm just amazed that you can be so optimistic."  
  
Sydney smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Optimistic?" She looked away for a moment, then turned towards him, stopping them on the grass near the room. "I'm not optimistic, Vaughn." He looked at her, his eyes focusing as the orange light reflected in the blue, almost mixing to make green. She continued, stopping for a moment to tilt her head and smile slightly. "I just - today was our last taste of semi-freedom. You know that, Vaughn." He looked at the ground, then at her, nodding in silent confirmation. She reached up with her right hand, touching his cheek with the tips of her fingers, enjoying the feeling of the slight stubble scratching against her skin. "I don't want to leave you again."  
  
Vaughn took that in, focusing on her eyes for a moment. Then he reached for her, pulling her close, his lips near her hair, her head in the crook of his neck. They stood like that for a moment, her hands clinging at the back of his jacket, his arms wrapped around her, the silence almost perfect. He whispered into her hair.  
  
"I don't want you to leave."  
  
They didn't move, their bodies still until the sun disappeared and the sky was dark, the moon a small sliver of silver above them. Then they pulled apart, Sydney wiping at her errant tears, Vaughn clasping her hand tightly. They walked the last few yards to the room, not switching on any lights, the small mosquito lanterns outside providing slight luminance.  
  
The couch was where they found themselves, curled up together, silent as the room grew darker and the stars shone brighter.  
  
The clock in the corner ticked.  
  
*  
  
"Out of my way I'm running  
  
I'm gonna catch you if I can  
  
Out of my way I'm coming  
  
I'm gonna catch you if I can."  
  
*  
  
(Pitch black) was the first thing Sydney thought when she woke, before she noticed the lanterns outside the window - tiny specks of orange light in the corner of her vision. She sat up, realising Vaughn was no longer next to her, the feeling of his warmth gone, replaced with the heat of the night.  
  
Her sweater was still reassuring, and she didn't remove it.  
  
She glanced around, her eyes trying to search through the darkness for Vaughn. (I wonder if that thing about females seeing better in the dark than males is true) A sweep of the room with her eyes (Vaughn?) and still nothing. She could feel the edges of panic begin in her stomach.  
  
Sydney stood, quietly making her way to the wall by the door and flipping on the light. The six lamps around the room lit immediately, creating circles of citrus orange light, and Sydney looked around again.  
  
No Vaughn.  
  
She paused, cocking her head a little to listen for a moment. (Nothing) She licked her lips and swallowed as her mouth suddenly became slightly dry.  
  
"Vaughn?" she said, quietly, to the stillness of the room. (Nothing) She flipped her head to where they'd put their bags earlier, relieved to find his sitting next to hers, untouched. And yet. he was nowhere.  
  
Her heart started pounding as she heard rustling outside the door. She froze, straining to listen to something, anything.  
  
(Nothing)  
  
She tried to inhale, her breath catching in her throat. Then a sound, quiet, almost imperceptible. A series of sounds. She paused.  
  
Static. Whispers. Quiet footsteps. Then clicks.  
  
(What? Clicks? What the fuck?)  
  
She heard more clicks, then more static, then a whisper, then silence.  
  
Oh God.  
  
Sydney dived.  
  
The gunfire was startling in the stillness as she crawled quickly behind the couch, breathing heavily, tears streaming down her face when she realised Vaughn was gone.  
  
(Gone)  
  
The wall was torn up with the shots, the automatic rifles making quick work of the plaster and wood of the door. As the construction became weaker, Sydney stopped moving.  
  
It was over.  
  
(Oh God, Vaughn. Where are you?)  
  
The couch started to shudder as bullets hit its plush cushions, and Sydney moved back, further away towards the opposite wall of the room, heading for the windows.  
  
(Why did you leave?)  
  
When the hand closed over her mouth, she tried to scream. Berating herself for being stupid (you idiot, you can't scream) she turned to see who it was. The blue eyes that stared at her (thank God) were strong, determined, resolute. She nodded as Vaughn pulled her up, his body half-in the window as he grabbed her waist and hoisted her backwards awkwardly.  
  
Her feet landed on the ground, boots hitting the concrete and jarring her legs. She didn't have time to think, blindly setting off after Vaughn, his hand gripping hers tightly.  
  
"Where'd you go?" she hissed, her breath coming even quicker now.  
  
"I thought I heard something," he explained, his feet pounding a steady rhythm as they ran onto the grass behind the main building. "I went out to see what was up, and saw the Hummers." Her eyes widened, both in surprise and through the effort it took to see ahead of her as they dodged the trees between the buildings.  
  
"You were gone for long?"  
  
He shook his head, and she tried to focus on her feet, his hair glinting and almost matching the colour of the sky as the moon struggled to shine. "I must have just left when you woke up or something. I was coming back when I heard the shots."  
  
She noticed how his voice wavered slightly, and she stared at his profile for a moment, thinking. (I told him they weren't coming. I told him when I knew they'd come -)  
  
(Fuck)  
  
She fell forward fast, her foot caught in a pothole, dragging Vaughn down with her.  
  
(Like I always do)  
  
Her cheek made contact with the dewy grass, and she glanced at her watch, not three inches from her face.  
  
Five fifty-seven AM.  
  
She swore, trying to get to her feet as Vaughn got to his knees. They stood, Sydney looking in front of them, Vaughn looking behind them. He spoke quietly, quickly.  
  
"We have to get to the Jeep."  
  
Sydney shook her head. "Vaughn, they would have already -"  
  
He cut her off. "They haven't found it yet. I was just in the lot. They parked out the front, and their men are only on three sides." He took a breath. "They haven't found the Jeep."  
  
Sydney nodded, wanting to believe, wondering how he already knew so much about where they were. (He could be helping them) She shook her head, ridding herself of the thoughts (Fuck, Sydney, this is VAUGHN) and confusing Vaughn in the process. She looked at him, then behind them, then to the side.  
  
"Okay. The Jeep."  
  
He nodded, turning towards the lot. Sydney grabbed his hand quickly.  
  
"We should split up."  
  
"What?" Vaughn was taken aback, and he stared at her for a moment. "Are you crazy?" he finally whispered, his face surprised and slightly angry.  
  
"It's easier, Vaughn. If one of us gets caught, the other can still get away." She looked at him, starting to move to the right towards the hedge that grew near the bed and breakfast.  
  
He shook his head. "No, Syd -"  
  
She put a finger to his lips, stopping him. "It's easier, Vaughn." She repeated, trying to be more forceful, her voice becoming softer instead.  
  
He sighed in reluctance, biting his lip. "I still don't think it's a good idea, but fine." He looked at his watch quickly. "Two minutes, and I'll be near the building across from the gate. Meet you there, okay?" She nodded, deciding that was definitely enough time for her to get there.  
  
"Okay," she replied, still nodding.  
  
Vaughn paused for a moment, then cupped her cheeks and pulled her to him. His lips met hers quickly, harshly, sweetly, taking over her senses as she breathed him in between her lips.  
  
Then he was gone, and she was running.  
  
*  
  
"Out of my way I'm running  
  
I'm gonna catch you if I can  
  
Out of my way start running  
  
I'm gonna catch you."  
  
*  
  
Across the expanse of lawn, onto the gravel, then onto the concrete. Sydney's breaths were short as she raced towards the parking lot, sticking to the edge of the grounds, her eyes set on the reception building near the back gate, a stone's throw from the parking lot.  
  
She came around the corner, a tear slipping from her eye (Where is he?) as she whipped her head around, searching for the Jeep.  
  
It was nowhere.  
  
The weather seemed to grow warmer as she ran across the asphalt, the sweater was now more annoying than reassuring, and she sprinted towards the gate, hoping Vaughn was outside the grounds, just past the brick wall and the small rainforest garden.  
  
The growl. "Stop." The guns, the men, the black military gear. Surrounded by the assholes of the new SD-6 (Oh God, I actually recognise some of them), her breathing slow as she tried to inhale properly, deeply (in, out) and still no Vaughn in sight.  
  
She looked at the sky, at the mocking stars as they disappeared, the sun rising as hope left her.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
"Come on," she whispered to herself. But, looking around, she knew there was no escape from this. None.  
  
It was over.  
  
*  
  
AN: Song is Kosheen's 'Catch'. I had a bit of trouble with the spacing, though. hmm. 


	13. Miami: where it all ends

*  
  
She was cold. Very, very cold.  
  
(Oh, God)  
  
The room was pale, painted a light ochre; the lamp was on in the corner, the carpet was clean, and the chair she was strapped to at the hands and feet (with rope - thankfully not plastic ties) was horribly comfortable.  
  
She was still wearing the sweater, the air in the room was heavy, and the temperature was warm, humid.  
  
She was still cold.  
  
There was a mirror on the wall facing her, behind which stood SD-6 operatives, and possibly Sloane. She took a deep breath as she tried to focus, pissed at being caught (we were going to get away), and even more so because instead of taking her straight to someplace resembling a torture chamber, which she'd expected, she was here, in this room resembling a safe house. She was annoyed that she was in such nice surroundings.  
  
It wasn't what she'd expected, and she hated these kinds of surprises.  
  
The men had grabbed her after a moment of indecision, which, Sydney had realised, was their only weakness, if it was a weakness at all. If it counted at all.  
  
(But everything counts right now)  
  
At the bed and breakfast, it had all been very professional. They'd walked her out the gate, down the road to a van. The sun had risen slowly, orange beams of light slicing through the morning dew and casting everything in a busy glow. She'd been handcuffed, feet cuffed, blindfolded, gagged, and strapped to the floor in the back of the van, surrounded by men with guns, laughing and chatting about their 'success,' poking her in the side with the butts of their automatics.  
  
She'd lain silently, fuming, listening to them banter, listening to the sounds outside the van. Running water, cars, nothing special. There had been bumps and a small bridge, and they were driving past trees. Sydney ascertained this from the shadows passing over the blindfold, quick, random bursts of brightness indicating a break in the foliage.  
  
She'd lain silently as they'd turned corners, her hips hitting the boots of the men sitting near her, thankful for the blindfold.  
  
At least they hadn't seen her tears.  
  
Now, she was here. This room, this little spot of tawny paint, with a comfortable chair and people watching her from behind glass. The silence was unnerving, and she stared straight ahead, at nothing in particular, her throat tight as she tried to hold back the sobs.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
That was what she didn't understand: where he was. Why he hadn't shown, why the Jeep was gone, why he'd left the room in the first place. Betrayal started to build in her mind, threatening to overtake her as she tried to think of different options. But there weren't any.  
  
She listened to the silence, wondering if she was going to be 'visited' anytime soon. There were scuffling sounds outside the door to the left of the mirror, and she prepared herself. Voices, muted words, shadows from under the door, and she breathed deeper for a moment, trying to gather her courage, all her old skills: the blank face, the strength behind her eyes.  
  
She almost failed.  
  
She was looking at the floor when the door opened, a form outlined in the dim light. Sydney had a fleeting memory of old detective movies, of the typical frosted glass door through which the 'tough cases' walked in, of the silhouettes that approached from outside, mystery drawing closer as the trumpet in the background played.  
  
She met his eyes as he gazed at her, stoic and calm as always. She fought to stop herself from screaming obscenities at him as he approached, stood by her side.  
  
She flinched as he reached out to touch her cheek.  
  
"Sydney Bristow." Arvin Sloane's voice still hadn't changed, and she was scared for a moment before defiance took over.  
  
"That's the name." She glared at him, and he smiled, walking a few steps away. He paused, turning back around.  
  
"How have you been, Sydney?" He smiled wider, his face becoming rat-like as his irises seemed to grow larger.  
  
"Fuck you." She spat out the words, her eyes feral. Her hair fell in her face, and she flipped it back, feeling bold.  
  
(No. That's a lie. I feel anything but bold.)  
  
"That's a little out of line, don't you think?" Sloane stopped the pleasantries. His eyes grew hard, his posture taller, his voice menacing as opposed to chatty. Sydney smirked, trying to hide her fear as best she could, preparing a biting response.  
  
"Screw being in line. You don't have any control over me." She watched as he took that in, his facial expression hardly changing at all. There was a slight flicker behind his eyes, and then nothing.  
  
"But I do have control over you, Sydney." Sloane looked at her again, composed, ready. The repetition of her name made Sydney anxious, worried. He moved closer as she looked away, her eyes focusing on the Renoir print on the far wall. A café scene. the name of the painting escaped her. She tried to focus on the shafts of light in the painting, falling carelessly on restaurant patrons, as Sloane moved ever closer.  
  
There was a pause as he stood above her, and then he touched her hair. She tried to recoil, but his touch soon changed as he grabbed a clump at the base of her neck, pulling her head back. She winced.  
  
"I have all the control here. Your life is in my hands. My hands, Sydney. No one else's. And I'm not letting you out of here anytime soon."  
  
She closed her eyes, the spite in his making her want to cry. She kept them clenched as he moved away, as he turned and walked from the room. A few minutes passed, and then the light in the room dimmed until it was almost pitch black. Why, she didn't know.  
  
She relaxed her eyes, trying to sleep through the unease, the pain, the tightness in her chest.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
But the tears still threatened to fall.  
  
*  
  
"I just want to feel safe in my own skin I just want to be happy again I just want to be deep in my own world But I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore."  
  
*  
  
The room was still dark when she woke. Looking around the dimly lit room, she glanced at the digital clock on the table by the bed, which indicated eight thirty-five. She sighed, noticing now that the room had no windows, and she blinked a few times, attempting to rouse herself more.  
  
Sydney paused, trying to listen. There was nothing, not even shadows from beneath the door, and she frowned. The entire area was dark. No light coming from the space outside the room, no low sounds of computers, no low mumbling of conversation.  
  
Something had changed.  
  
She tried to move, the chair inching forward when she attempted to fling herself forward. Still, there was no movement from outside.  
  
Another grunt as she tried to move forward, gaining another few inches in the almost dark, getting closer the mirror. Another try, and another, the chair moving further and faster across the carpet as she got the hang of the movements.  
  
And still no one burst in through the door, gun waving at her, telling her to stop, telling her there was no escape.  
  
Confidence and hope built in her as she moved, throwing her body weight forward. Her ropes were loosening slightly, but she forced herself to stop thinking of simple escapes.  
  
Closer to the mirror, closer, feet and hands now almost completely loose, her breathing steady. Another push of her body, and she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor.  
  
She lay silently for a moment, still expecting someone to rush into the room, flick on the lights, yell. She was on her knees and shoulder, carpet digging into her cheek, the weight of the chair on top of her pressing down slightly. Satisfied no one was coming, she tried to move again.  
  
She fell onto her side, wincing at the pain as her wrist was caught under the chair. She bit her lip as she tried to push herself back onto her shoulder, tears pricking at her eyes as she felt her skin bruising, the pain blunt and harsh.  
  
She tugged at her other arm, trying to move the rest of her body as little as possible, and she finally smiled with triumph as the rope allowed her other arm to slip from it's knots.  
  
She pushed herself up, untying her legs, then getting off the chair and turning to undo the knots around her other wrist, rubbing it when it was freed.  
  
Then she stood, pausing. There was still nothing from outside, from beyond the mirror, and she wondered if this was an elaborate set-up. She'd run out the door, which would be miraculously unlocked, race down a hallway and jump out a window, falling onto warm grass and loping across a lawn to a road.  
  
Then she'd see her blood on the ground as she fell, wounds to her chest crying red tears.  
  
She shook her head as she fumbled along the wall for a light switch. She found one, but when she flipped it, nothing happened. She sighed in exasperation as she tried the door - locked - and wondered what the hell was happening. Surely her guards - naturally, they had to have left some - weren't just sitting on the opposite side of the mirror, laughing silently as they watched her topple to the floor, untie herself, and try the door.  
  
Sydney hesitated, wondering again. Maybe she was lucky, and they'd decided to break while she slept. Taking her chance, she moved swiftly to stand right in front of the mirror. Reaching to her right, she lifted the chair, turning it so the legs faced the reflective glass, and thrust it forward.  
  
The glass shattered, falling forward, backward, into the room she was still standing in and into the 'observation' room beyond.  
  
(Yes)  
  
She stood still, triumphant, and yet horribly scared. There was no one in the room. No one sitting in the swivel chairs, no one typing at any of the keyboards, no one sipping coffee. The lights were off; the only sound the faint hum of one of the many blank monitors.  
  
(Okay. What the hell is this?)  
  
Sydney placed the chair on the ground, stepping on it to throw her leg over into the other room, foot landing on the sturdy table. She stepped onto it, glass crunching under her boots, and then jumped to the floor. She paused again, scaring herself once more as nothing happened. No gunshots, no yells, no explosions.  
  
She shook her head and headed off, down a hallway, also dark without windows. There was silence. Nothing moved, nothing stirred, and she became even more suspicious. Nobody would be sleeping at this time of day, and she was definitely someone who should have been watched.  
  
She moved quickly down the hall, passing open doorways, bedrooms, a bathroom. Approaching what seemed to be a bright open area, she heard a voice. Low, pleading, horribly quiet. She stopped, freezing near the edge of the hallway, and looked around the corner.  
  
A column blocked her view, but she recognised the area to be the kitchen and living room. Tile floor, vases of flowers. Very nice, from a design point of view. She shook her head at the inane thoughts and concentrated on the low voice from further out in the room.  
  
"Please. Don't do this." Sloane? (Oh, my God.)  
  
"Why shouldn't I?" The voice. Changed by one of those voice boxes she hated so much, strong, straight-to-the-point. A no-bullshit kind of person. She moved slowly to the pillar, trying to look around.  
  
She almost didn't believe what she saw.  
  
Sloane, on his knees, head bowed. A man stood above him, gun pointed at his head, execution style, dressed in black, a balaclava covering his face. She shook away the feeling of familiarity as she watched, confused, scared. Glancing across to her left, she spotted men.  
  
Sprawled on the ground, at least seven of them, blood on their clothes, automatics in their hands.  
  
(He's here to save me.) Sydney almost smiled at the thought, looking at the man, his frame strong, slightly taller than her. (But it. no.)  
  
Sloane pleaded one more time, his voice still strong. Upholding his honour, it seemed.  
  
"I don't deserve this." He risked a glance up at the man, who didn't move. There was a pause, and then the voice box boomed again.  
  
"Arvin, this is all you deserve."  
  
The shot was silent, the small sound alike that of a tranquilliser gun, and Arvin Sloane slumped sideways onto the ground, eventually landing stomach- first on the cold tile.  
  
The man stood unmoving for a moment, his gun still raised. His hand fell to his side, and he stared at the body lying in front of him. Sydney wondered what was going through his mind, and why he seemed so calm, so stoic.  
  
She looked around on the floor near her, spotting a handgun. She picked it up, it's weight indicating it was still loaded, and tucked it in the back of her jeans, keeping it for a worthy occasion. She didn't move forward, content to watch the man on the other side of the pillar stare at the ground silently.  
  
Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and she saw one of the men on the ground raise his arm. She opened her mouth to call out, but Voice Box Man had turned and a shot was fired before she had the chance.  
  
The arm dropped, the man on the ground now dead, and Voice Box Man spun back around. He threw his gun to the ground and moved off, heading in her direction, his head down.  
  
Sydney hesitated, then stepped out from behind the pillar, blocking his path.  
  
The man froze. His head rose, his eyes meeting hers, and she felt tears prick at her eyelids before he even took the balaclava off.  
  
She moved forward, stopping right in front of him. Then his arms reached out, and she almost fell into him, letting herself be enveloped in his strange comfort.  
  
"Hi Dad," she whispered, trying to keep the tears in check. She tightened her arms around him, thankful for his presence, for showing up in the last place she expected him.  
  
Jack didn't move, clasping her to him, cradling the back of her head. "Sydney," he said gruffly, and she smiled, amazed that he could still be so restrained in such a situation. She moved back, wiping her eyes slightly as he looked down at her, his face full of sadness and pride, and even regret.  
  
"I'm." he paused, searching for the right word. She stood, waiting. "I'm sorry for - for taking so long to. make an appearance, Sydney." She nodded at him, her lips curving into a small, forgiving smile.  
  
"How was Germany?" she asked him, the hurt in her stomach slowly receding as she told herself that he was here, and that was all that mattered.  
  
(He came to save me. He came all the way from Europe to get his daughter. That deserves some credit.)  
  
Jack gazed at her for a moment, considering his words, searching her face for malice, resentment. Obviously not finding any, he looked down before looking back at her, nodding as he spoke. "Surprisingly lonely, actually."  
  
Sydney grinned. When Jack raised a corner of his mouth in response, her hope returned.  
  
Turning, they walked from the house slowly, stepping out onto the warm grass and into the humid air. A Lincoln (it's okay, it's a sedan) stood by the road, one wheel driven up onto the gutter, surrounded by black and silver vans and men. Tons of men, strolling from van to van, from house to car, speaking through phones, through walkie-talkies. The business was astounding, and yet serenely quiet. Sydney looked at her father, at his weathered face. His hair had greyed, receded slightly, and his eyes were resigned. Remorse hit her, as did pity. So much had happened to him since she'd last seen him, probably more than she could guess. He glanced at her, nodded in a way that was characteristically Jack Bristow.  
  
She turned back to the scene in front of her, eyes scanning the area for Vaughn, hoping he was there. She imagined him looking up from a map on the hood of a car, his eyes brightening at the sight of her, his legs moving quickly as he jogged to pull her into his arms, kiss her lips, whisper apologies and reassurances in her ear.  
  
He was nowhere in sight.  
  
(No)  
  
She spotted Eric Weiss by a van, bulletproof vest covering his pale blue oxford, sunglasses resting on his nose. He took them off when he saw her, nodding his head in acknowledgement as he started to head towards her.  
  
Sydney turned to her father, and he nodded at her again as he noticed Weiss. His eyes moved to three spots - left, right, left, in a strange habit - before returning to her face, and he inclined his head in the approaching agent's direction.  
  
"Go ahead." He spoke, voice strong but no longer gruff. "I'll be ready to get you out of here when you're finished."  
  
She nodded, looking over as Weiss got closer. "Where are we going?"  
  
Jack looked at her intently, the look n his face once again weary. "Miami, to the safe house. And then, somewhere where we'll be safe."  
  
Sydney smiled faintly, replying with a small "Okay" before Jack nodded again and walked away towards a group of agents. She turned to watch him move away, and Weiss walked up and stood next to her, hands in his pockets, filling the space Jack had just occupied. There was silence for a moment as they stood, watching Jack retreat.  
  
"He's been here for days. When he found out what was happening, he flew straight in from Europe."  
  
Sydney looked over at Weiss, his eyes narrowed against the harsh morning light as he indicated Jack with a tilt of his head. She turned to him, pushing her hair behind her ears before she spoke.  
  
"How did you find out where I was?" she asked. Weiss sighed, looking down. Then he, too, turned to look at her, his face open but drained.  
  
"Michael called at about five this morning, said Sloane had gotten too close."  
  
Sydney frowned, confused, counting. "Five? Not six?" (That's not right. We ran out of there at six.)  
  
Weiss shook his head. "No. Five. My cell woke up half the guys in the van. We were already heading to Miami, and just changed direction when he called." He looked around at the men covering the lawn, his hand sweeping in a half-circle to indicate them. "We were all ready to come in and kick some SD-6 ass."  
  
Sydney nodded, turning away as she felt herself start to choke up. Vaughn lied. To her. She knew she should be thankful that he'd gotten her saved, but she wasn't. He should have been there with her, saved her himself like he had so many times before.  
  
But he'd lied. He'd left the room earlier than he'd said, moved the Jeep, left her behind. Her eyes began to water again, and she swore under her breath as she moved the hair off her forehead. The sweater, the once- comforting sweater, was now making her feel hot, clammy, itchy, sick.  
  
"What?" Weiss asked, noticing the look of distaste on her face.  
  
"Where is he?" she asked, looking at him angrily. He raised his eyebrows at the look in her eyes.  
  
"Don't you know?"  
  
She shook her head, heart thumping.  
  
(Please tell me he'll be here in a moment. Please don't tell me he's gone.)  
  
Weiss put his hands on his hips, the Kevlar vest moving upwards with his movements. He didn't speak for a moment before looking at her, his face apologetic.  
  
"I don't know, Syd."  
  
Sydney stopped breathing for a moment as she digested the words. "What do you mean, you don't know?"  
  
Weiss shrugged. "I don't know. I thought he'd be - I thought he might have been caught, too. There was a tracking device on your clothes, he said, on your sweater." She looked down at the knit, feeling worse, sickness starting to form in her stomach.  
  
(Holy shit, I've been so stupid)  
  
"That's how we pretty much found you. Jack said to wait until everything was taken care of before we got you out." He raised a corner of his mouth in humour. "You were asleep when we got to the room."  
  
Sydney was listening, but her mind was nowhere near her sleeping, the sweater, Weiss. Vaughn flew through her mind, the last minutes she'd spent with him, the kiss - the thing that should have let her know. The finality.  
  
(So stupid)  
  
"So you don't know where he is?" She asked Weiss one last time, making sure. Hoping for a, "Actually, he left a note for you" scenario.  
  
Weiss shook his head, and her hope faded again. "No idea, Sydney. I'm sorry."  
  
"That's okay." She looked away, at her father. His eyes darted to meet hers, and she nodded, moving towards the Lincoln. "I'm going to go, okay, Weiss?"  
  
He looked at her, his eyes contrite. She felt like hitting him. (I don't want your pity.)  
  
(What I want is Vaughn)  
  
"Okay. Good luck, Sydney." She smiled thinly at him, walking towards the Lincoln and climbing in to the passenger seat. Her father joined her silently minutes later, starting the car and pulling onto the road, two vans following them, most likely full of agents ready to help, shoot, kill if need be.  
  
Her eyes closed as they drove, the sick feeling in her stomach growing, the pain in her chest threatening her breathing.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
He was gone. And again, she was lost.  
  
*  
  
"I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say And you can't take back what you've taken away Cause I feel you. I feel you near me."  
  
*  
  
Sydney felt safe.  
  
The car was quiet: pleasantly warm, the air conditioning sweeping small strands of her hair back from her face. She imagined she was standing on a beach. A long beach, deserted save two people. Clasping hands, waves trickling between their toes, they'd stand forever, watching the tides rise and fall.  
  
The sun filtered across her face as she glanced at her watch. Twelve thirty three, and they were in Fort Lauderdale, almost on the final leg of the trip to Miami.  
  
God, how she wished it was Vaughn driving.  
  
Her father had been the same. That was, silent. He'd hardly spoken, glancing over once every ten miles to see if she was awake. She hadn't been able to sleep. She'd been thinking for the three and a half hours of the journey so far, and she knew she'd probably be thinking for the remaining forty minutes. (More like for the rest of my life)  
  
Then she was going to a safe house (like in Lawrenceville) and a new life (like in Portland). She was scared, petrified of what lay ahead. She knew everything was over - her father had explained to her earlier, in short sentences, how the Alliance had been infiltrated, how SD's seven through to nine had been destroyed within the last week, how SD-4 had three double agents, how SD-6's headquarters in San Francisco had been hit (blown up) approximately a few minutes before Sloane had been killed. Executed.  
  
Everything was finally finished. Sloane. Sydney felt no pity for him. None at all.  
  
(After everything, he deserves it.)  
  
(And I deserve some happiness.)  
  
But it wasn't going to happen. Again, there was nothing for her. Just another meaningless existence in some corner of the country, with new friends, new details, a new life. She didn't think she could handle it again. After last time - her attempt at normality, which ended in this, this freak road trip down the East Coast - she was just too scared. Scared of losing more, of getting close to anything that could die again.  
  
She wanted someone to take her away from everything, to come along and rescue her from herself.  
  
(Vaughn could. He's done it before.)  
  
But Vaughn wasn't going to come and save her anytime soon, anytime at all. That thought depressed her, the facts terrifying her when she realised that she was truly never going to see him again.  
  
(But I thought that the last time, and look what happened then)  
  
She sighed quietly, watching the scenery pass.  
  
Another thirty-five minutes, and they'd be in Miami. In the safe house. The safe house she was meant to be in with Vaughn, not her father.  
  
(Where did you go?)  
  
A glance, craned neck, allowed her to see the van following them, the smooth silver of it gliding along almost silently behind their own black Lincoln.  
  
(To think I was so scared of these. Now I feel safe.)  
  
(I wish I could just make up my mind)  
  
She stopped herself from smirking to cover up her pain. Her stomach was clenched (hungry), her head was throbbing (ache), and her heart hurt, sitting quietly in her chest, pumping unenthusiastically as she stopped herself from crying again.  
  
(Heartbreak. God, I sound like an Elvis song or something)  
  
Sydney was sick of it. The self-pity, the tears, the self-indulgent whining. She was meant to be so strong, and she cried more than anyone she knew. Vaughn was right to call her a baby.  
  
(And I really shouldn't be thinking of Vaughn. Like it helps.)  
  
The car zoomed downtown, and she continued to stare out at the sun shining, lighting up everything happily. Nothing matched her mood. Her father cleared his throat, and she expected him to speak, but he said nothing. The road was long, (obviously) and she stared ahead, wondering where it would lead.  
  
She finally removed the sweater, sadly, breathing it in one last time as it went over her head. It landed on the backseat, and she paused for a moment, looking at it laying there, crumpled, harmless. Then she turned back forward.  
  
(Goodbye again, Vaughn.)  
  
*  
  
The safe house. (Another one) Sydney clenched her jaw as they walked through the door, the pale blue walls smirking at her. It was small. While her father swept for bugs (why does he bother? We're meant to be safe, right?. but wait. This is Dad.), she walked slowly through the house.  
  
It was pretty; the curtains were a royal blue, and the whole house seemed to smile. It was clean, it was private, and it was nice. Comfortable. She liked it, hated it, wondered why she felt both. The living room consisted of two couches, a television and a coffee table, and there were three rooms to the side. A study. Or what passed for a study, because the shelves and table were filled and covered with nothing but maps, gadgets, and weapons. Sydney was surprised - this time, at everything being left out in the open, and the room was the only messy one in the house.  
  
The last two rooms were bedrooms. Both small, one with a single bed, and both had tiny ensuites. She smiled at the bar of seashell soap in the ensuite of the smaller, at the matching blue towels.  
  
The larger bedroom, however, made her stop. Pause. Almost cry. (Almost saves me every time)  
  
Double bed, blue covers, blue pillows. (So, so blue) Towel on the bed, messily thrown. The bathroom was all blue tiles and white porcelain, and she walked into it slowly, looking around at the shower, the bath, the basin as if waiting for something to attack her.  
  
The towels. The bed. Sydney turned back around quickly, looking at the made bed. She quickly moved towards it, pulled back the covers.  
  
Slightly rumpled sheets.  
  
(You can't be serious.)  
  
She walked to the bathroom again, touched the hand towel hanging by the basin, gripped it with both hands.  
  
Slightly damp.  
  
(No, no, no, no, no)  
  
The rooms smelled nice. The bathroom was. different. There was something in it, something unidentifiable, and yet she knew what it was.  
  
(He's been here)  
  
Sydney stopped breathing. She looked around the bathroom again, trying to figure things out, find clues. There were water droplets on the basin, which wouldn't have been there if no one had used the house in as long as she'd been informed. Towels, slightly damp. The one on the bed was half- dry, and she clutched it as she stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the bed.  
  
(He was here)  
  
Her first instinct was to fall to the floor, sobbing, crying, begging for him to come back. To hold the towel to her pathetically and cry into it's cold, slightly-damp comfort.  
  
She stopped herself.  
  
Instead, she stared at the bed, waited for something to happen. Satisfied the bed was empty she moved over to the mattress, sat on it for a moment. (I'm insane) Stared at the pillows, imagining a head-sized dint in one of them. (There's nothing there. I know that. But I want there to be) She finally lay on the bed, breathed in its smell - clean sheets, nothing more, and was disappointed.  
  
(I want them to smell like him)  
  
Stood again, turned to face the bed once more. So innocent, innocuous, and yet it made her want to pull apart the pillows, rip the coverlet to shreds, gauge into the mattress with a knife, killing something that was already dead, cause it as much pain as it was causing her.  
  
(I think I'm losing it)  
  
Sydney stared at it some more, wondering why. Why she was here, why he'd been here, why she was so lost without him. (I'm my own woman, dammit. He shouldn't make me feel like this. Like I'm three and can't find my father at the supermarket)  
  
(But he does)  
  
Then she moved towards the bed again, reached for the pillow closest to her. Snatched it to her, held it as she looked under it. Prayed for a message, a photo, an envelope.  
  
Nothing.  
  
(Vaughn)  
  
She left the room, the pillow dropped to the floor on her way out, towel half-off the foot of the bed.  
  
Her father was in the kitchen, looking tired and peaceful. Sydney felt hope. Something made her feel as though there was an escape from everything, finally.  
  
Her father almost smiling, for one.  
  
She sat down near the counter, slipping onto one of the stools as her father pulled out the cake, looked at it sceptically, then placed it on the blue (blue; it's as bad as the fucking pink) marble bench top next to him. She watched Jack, the man who had brought her into this life, arrange some fruit on a plate and set it out in front of her, ready to be eaten. She picked at it, eating a strawberry and a banana before giving up.  
  
Her father looked at her worriedly, then decided it was best to leave her alone. Silence overtook the house, the only sounds for a long while being the crunch of fruit between teeth, of peels hitting plates, and then of plates being stacked in the sink. Her father moved to the small bedroom, peering in at the small space, and turned back to Sydney, nodded once.  
  
"I'll take the smaller bedroom."  
  
Sydney looked up at him. "No, Dad, take -"  
  
He shook his head. "No. It's yours. I'm going to get some rest, all right?"  
  
Before she could answer, he'd closed the door, leaving her alone. She wondered if he'd sleep; then realised he actually might.  
  
And she was left with nothing to do. It was hardly two in the afternoon (three past two, to be exact) and she wanted nothing more than to collapse somewhere and cry, mourn everything, then smile and celebrate the start of something new.  
  
She wrote a note, left the house, walked for hours. Good sense of direction helped her as she strolled, the beach helping ease her mind as the salt water trickled over her toes, the salty air whipping her hair back from her face. She wished she wasn't alone, wished she was completely free, wished a lot of things that would never come true.  
  
Several hours later, she returned to the house, surprised by the long time she'd been gone, and yet happy at how she'd spent her time. She hadn't cried.  
  
(Much)  
  
She strolled into the kitchen quietly, not wanting to wake her dad, but then stopped when she spotted him sitting at the counter.  
  
"Hey Dad." The words were quiet from her mouth, controlled and not shaky.  
  
He looked up at her with a small smile, one of those where the corners of his mouth just. rose above the rest of his lips. Most would have considered it a fake smile, but Sydney knew that it had been the only one he possessed for years.  
  
"Hello, Sydney."  
  
His gaze was calm, his eyes not shutting her out, and she was confused. He was too happy - or not happy, more along the lines of 'cheery' - compared to his usual moods. His cup of coffee, the smell wafting into her nostrils, (choking me) was cradled between his hands, and the whole picture was wrong. She didn't want him happy. She wanted him pissed off.  
  
And she wanted answers.  
  
She smiled faintly, trying to work out exactly what she wanted to say. She focused on her hands as she leaned on the bench across from her father, not hearing whatever it was he said, his speech still punctuated by that constructed smile. She was lost for a moment before she looked into Jack's confused eyes and asked, "Why didn't you tell me you were going to Germany?"  
  
Jack's face immediately changed. Sydney paused for a moment, realising she'd spoken wrongly, wishing she could take it back. Take back the words that had made her father's face impassive, closed off, controlled, masked. His coffee was forgotten as he pushed it aside and stood, turning around to wash his hands in the sink as if cleansing himself of something.  
  
"Why do you want to know, Sydney?" he asked, and she could see him gathering his thoughts as he waited for her to answer.  
  
"Why d'you think I want to know, Dad?" She was tired of this - of everything. All she'd thought to be true had been turned upside down again, and it was enough. Right now, she just wanted to know everything, and that was all there was to it.  
  
(Everything that I want. yes, I feel selfish.)  
  
(And I don't give a fuck.)  
  
He glared at her as he turned off the faucet and faced her. "I left, Sydney, because I had to. SD-6 was going to be destroyed, and -"  
  
"You could've told me," Sydney burst out, waving her arms at him as she stood, feeling taller and stronger as she did so. (Fucking invincible)  
  
"How, Sydney? Did you honestly expect me to be able to call you, tell you, and take you with me?" His face was turning slightly red, and she was reminded of an earlier conversation, much earlier. In a car while it rained, when she told him she wanted to find her mother. "I didn't think. I didn't think you needed me."  
  
Sydney disregarded the last comment. "A note would have been nice." She threw at him, pissed. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel slowly, then paused as he looked up at her.  
  
"I couldn't, Sydney. I wanted to, but I couldn't. That would have put you in more danger than you already were. As it was, you were more than lucky to survive."  
  
She stared at him, her fury growing. "And you couldn't let me know?" She practically shrieked, her legs wobbling as she tried to keep her balance while the argument raged on.  
  
She was startled when her father flung the dishtowel across the kitchen, his face a mix of emotions, his mask gone. She watched as his eyes watered (no, they can't be watering. Jack Bristow doesn't cry. Right?), his cheeks became brighter with anger, and his breathing became shallow for a moment before he spoke.  
  
"I wanted to, Sydney! Can you understand that? I couldn't! If I had been able to, you'd be living in Osnabrück right now!" He shook his head, and she was sorry. Sorry for making this a bigger confrontation than it was supposed to be. She only wanted an explanation. Just an explanation.  
  
She didn't want her father pissed off anymore.  
  
She was almost scared as he dropped his head to his chest and sighed, the energy draining from him. He looked at her finally, his eyes anything but blank.  
  
Sydney wanted to cry when she realised he was hurt, and just as scared as she was.  
  
(This can't be my Dad. He's never. never anything but professional)  
  
And yet he was so much more than professional.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sydney. Very sorry."  
  
She nodded, understanding. "I know. I'm sorry, Dad."  
  
He looked away again, nodding in confirmation.  
  
She asked him one last question. "Did you try to let me know?"  
  
He looked at her. "As soon as I heard that SD-6 was gone, I called the CIA. Devlin told me you'd be fine, but he wouldn't let me know where you were. I suspected that he didn't know."  
  
Sydney thought about that for a moment, and believed him. Elizabeth Whitby had disappeared quickly, easily, and she'd been thankful.  
  
"Thank you, Daddy."  
  
She looked up at him. He was calmer now, his hands at his sides, his eyes meeting hers, then glancing away.  
  
He nodded at her, and she turned around, walking away.  
  
An hour passed, and the sun disappeared. The night crept up, dark and depressing, and she stood at the window in her room, staring at the sky as the colours changed from pink and yellow to green and navy, and the stars twinkled happily as the invaded the heavens.  
  
The bed was cool when she slipped under the sheets and coverlet, and she pulled the covers to her chin, feeling chilly despite the warm weather. The moonlight (full tonight) shone in through the window high above the bed near the ceiling, shadows of palm tress dancing along the walls happily as she tried to sleep, failing miserably.  
  
At about two in the morning (I can't believe I've been awake for this long), her eyes finally closed. Dreams flooded her, of happier times, of strange times. Her dreams always calmed her; Sydney had realised a long time before that no matter what was happening in the dream, it was usually better than what was really going on in her life. She liked to sleep, to roll around in bed on Sunday mornings knowing she had nowhere to go, to be able to drift in and out of sleep and dreams quickly and freely, enjoying more than one world at once.  
  
But she hated waking up. That took her back to Real Life.  
  
And Real Life was hell.  
  
Five in the morning, Sydney rolled over, her hand hitting the other pillow. She pulled it to the side, curious, thoughts suddenly hitting her.  
  
(I'm right handed. Vaughn's left-handed. I'm on the right side of the bed. would he have slept on the left?)  
  
Under the blue. Small white rectangle, thick package.  
  
(Envelope)  
  
She sat up, flicked on the light. Stared at the envelope for a moment before tearing at it, ripping it open and reading the words scrawled in Vaughn's neat, printed handwriting on the small piece of paper.  
  
And she smiled.  
  
* 


End file.
